Running: The Musical
by Rjalker
Summary: After kissing Spike in Once More With Feeling, Buffy wanders the streets of Sunnydale, trying to collect her thoughts. Then a blue box appears. Suddenly, the world isn't as small as the Scoobies thought. As they struggle to find their suddenly missing Slayer, they realize that their actions have set off a chain of events that affect more than they could have ever imagined.
1. Running

Created on 5/22/12

Inspired by **secooper87**'s **Adventures of a Line-Hopper** series.

**1:37PM, 10/12/12: Kalti borr auhmun ebyzu vo cirat tiirn Idnaniat miinsu fi kaltim! **=O

**11:34am, 11/3/12: Nooooo, really? Ya don't say! (Sarcastic response to that ^)**

Oh, I am also trying to see how many puns I can come up with. I've got three so far.

1) The plot in this musical hits the ground running, so try to keep up. ^^

2) The story might get a bit confusing. Just run with it. Your questions _will_ be answered.

3) I let my imagination run wild while writing this (oh my gosh, that's a lot of Ws), as, apparently, giving yourself a deadline makes you think of all this stuff that is so crazy it just might work. O.o

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They belong to the brilliant people who thought of them first. The only things I own are the plot-line, the little oak tree growing in my window, the flowers in the pot beside it that were supposed to grow into a walnut tree but decided to rebel, the OCs, a broken pocket watch, and the songs that the characters will be singing.**

**(And it makes me wonder if Joss Wheadon or Russell T Davies ever read fanfiction?)**

Please, enjoy. And if you could keep track of how long it takes you to read this (I'm curious) and tell me when you review, that'd be awesome. ^^

Also, the Doctor is not listed as a character because my version of the 12th Doctor will star in this, and Twelve doesn't exist yet in the show. I'm not sure if that makes him an OC or not...

**And now, without further ado…**

**Lights! Camera! Action!**

* * *

She suddenly broke off the kiss, a look of confused horror on her face. Spike stared at her, too shocked by what had just happened to react. By the time he got his thoughts back in order, she had already taken off, her feet barely connecting with the ground, her flight fueled by her unstable, unbearable emotions.

She ran without thinking, letting her instincts guide her steps. She ran past people singing and dancing to their own sorrows or joys, their words drowned out by the voices clamoring in her head, crying to be free, to have their chance to burst out in song. But she bit her lip, forced the voices away, and focused on running, ignoring the sharp pain that came with every other step.

The hard pavement was littered with broken glass, and she felt a shiver of horror roll down her spine when she felt something shift into dust under her foot, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, a scrap of tattered, charred cloth that had once been a shirt.

But she blocked the horrifying image from her mind before she could fully comprehend its implications, and kept running, moving so quickly that all who saw her pass hardly knew what they had seen.

Who was that girl, running as if all the demons of hell gave chase? Why was she only wearing one shoe, and why did her eyes seem so old, and so, so sad?

But she didn't stop to answer to answer, didn't stop to explain that she had once been happy, oh, so happy. Didn't stop to explain that her friends had thought she was in trouble, and had brought her back. Torn her out of her happiness, torn her out of her heaven.

So she ran.

She didn't stop until she could go no further, and by then, she was more than halfway across town. Her lungs were on fire. Her legs ached and felt as heavy as lead. The voices in her head were deafening. She didn't think she'd be able to hold them back for much longer.

Her breathing coming in ragged gasps, she limped over to a wall and leaned against it for a moment, catching her breath, before she slowly slid to the ground. That was when she realized that she was missing a shoe. Her sneaker had somehow fallen off. She froze when she noticed that the shoe she was still wearing was blackened and burnt. She could see through to her sock in some places. That explained it.

And now that she thought about it, all of her clothes—which had changed again, magically, from a red shirt and jeans, to what she had been wearing earlier while training with Giles, a white tank top and black sweats—were singed and reeked horribly of smoke. Her skin was bright red and hot to the touch, like sunburn. She swallowed as she realized how close she had come to dying. Again.

And then, she realized how ridiculous it was for her to have left behind a shoe, right after kissing Spike. She scoffed bitterly. Some Cinderella she made. Cinders? Yes. Princess in need of rescuing from an evil family?

…

She closed her eyes and sighed when she realized that she couldn't automatically answer that with a 'no'.

They weren't evil. They hadn't meant to hurt her. They'd thought they were helping her. It wasn't their fault; they had no way of knowing where she was…

But no matter how many times she told herself this, she never quite managed to convince herself. She didn't know a lot about magic, but she knew that it was possible to speak with the dead. Why hadn't they held a séance, or whatever it was called, and _asked_ if she was happy or not first? Could they be anymore selfish?

She slowly opened her eyes and quickly blinked away the tears that wanted to fall. She wiped her face with a hand—and then frowned when she saw that it was covered in soot. Now she probably had a black streak across her face. It took her a moment to realize that she really didn't care, lowered her hand again, and wrapped her arms across her chest.

She wondered briefly if she was being selfish for wanting to still be dead, for wanting to be happy again. Because she wasn't—happy, that is…It seemed impossible to be happy here—here, where she was a killer, forced to spend her nights murdering people. For the good of the world.

For the good of the world, she had sacrificed her life. For the good of the world, she had been rewarded.

But now? This wasn't supposed to have happened. It _shouldn't_ have happened.

She'd moved on. She'd left behind this life of pain and blood and death, and moved onto something greater. Something…brighter.

She no longer belonged here. This was no longer her world. It belonged to them, to Spike, and Willow, and Giles, and all the other Scoobies. It belonged to Angel and Cordie, and Wesley, and Faith, and whatever other poor girl had been Chosen to lead the life of a Slayer with her death. It belonged to them all, to those strangers walking past her now, too caught up in their own pain to notice hers. It belonged to them, but not her. Not anymore.

Abruptly she shook her head, trying to rid it of the depressing thoughts as best she could, and focused her eyes instead on her foot, which, she had just noticed, really, _really_ hurt. Now that the adrenaline had left most of her blood, feeling was returning.

She blew out a calming breath that really didn't help, and pulled her foot up across her other leg so that she could assess the damage. The sock she'd been wearing was barely hanging on anymore; only the elastic part around her ankle remained undamaged. The rest of it—now black and filthy—had been torn to shreds from the rough ground she'd been running over. Dried blood also coated the bottom of her foot.

She scowled in irritation and pulled the sock the rest of the way off, being careful not to let it brush any of painful scrapes that now covered the bottom of her foot. She was about to throw it away, then thought better of it, and used the clean part of it to gingerly wipe away the worst of the blood, dirt and gravel.

She bit her lip when enough of the grime had cleared away enough for her to see the long cut that ran the length of her foot from her big toe to her heel. How had she not noticed it before?

It was bleeding, but not badly. From the amount of dried blood on her foot, though, she knew it had been bleeding pretty badly earlier. It didn't seem too deep, but still, a cut that big could easily get infected, even with her superior immune system.

She remembered—vaguely—talking about stress in Health class, on one of those rare occasions when she'd been awake enough to pay attention. They'd said that stress affected your immune system. She would have to find that teacher—what had been her name?—and apologize for never paying attention before…As long as she was still alive. Teachers didn't really last that long when the school was directly over a Hellmouth.

She knew that with the stress she'd been facing since she got back—adjusting to life, waking up in a coffin, having to deal with the aftermath of that—the nightmares it caused, which she didn't think she'd really ever get over—finding out that she didn't have any money, finding out that her friends had taken over her house and _spent_ all of her money, trying to act normal so they didn't notice; trying to act like nothing had happened, and then trying to convince them to stop worrying about her, which only made them worry more, trying to fight the urge to just curl up in a ball under the covers and never come out again, to sleep away forever—yeah, it wouldn't be hard to get sick. It was really just a matter of time.

She closed her eyes tightly, imagining how horrible it would be to have to go to a hospital. Would they even let her leave? Wasn't she legally dead? What did their records say? Didn't anyone besides the Scoobies even know she'd died? She'd never thought to ask about her dad. Did he know she'd died?

She suddenly made her mind up to call him when she got back home. It no longer mattered that he was living with his secretary. Why did it matter, anyway? He was family, the only real family she and Dawn had left. Poor Dawn, she'd gone through so much. Too much.

Losing her father through divorce. Having to move to an entirely new school. Losing her mother, and then her sister, in the same year, even, and now that she was back, she hardly ever saw Dawn at all. She slept almost the entire day away—oh, how she wished she could never wake up—spent her nights patrolling the streets and graveyards, and when Dawn _was _there, she became so over-protective that she was starting to push her away, however unintentionally.

Her interaction with her friends was nonexistent at worst and distant at best. Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, she would break off suddenly and stare past them, caught up in her thoughts, her eyes glazed and unseeing as she struggled to remember something concrete about where she had been, the silence stretching so long that the others didn't know what to say. When she finally gave up the futile effort, she would blink, and continue as if nothing had happened.

It was only in her dreams that she was able to grasp some sense of her heaven. The images were always blurry, and hard to remember, but she knew that the color red was important.

…As important as the strange, inexplicable mixture of feelings she felt for Spike.

Disgust...Affection.

Hatred...

...Love.

She shivered, and look at the cut on her foot, then at what was left of the sock, which was sitting on the ground next to her, and picked it up. She clenched her jaw, pressed the cleanest part of it around her foot where the cut was, then tied it tightly so that—hopefully—no dirt or germs could get in it. She would not go to a hospital. She would fight tooth and nail. And she would win. They'd already put her though enough. They could _not_ make her go into one of those hell holes.

Scowling as she imagined her friends trying to drag her to the hospital, she pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, leaning further into the wall, closing her eyes again in sudden tiredness. The voices were back, and she no longer had the energy to fight them. She was going to have to sing.

The words began low, as a barely audibly whisper that just barely graced her lips.

"Take a chance? No way. That would be too simple;

Logic has no place for me, So instead I run.

Run from my uncertainties, Flee from my despair,

Hold my feeling's tight and close, Can't let hope get too far."

She pressed herself farther into the wall, then scooched sideways so that she could lean against the corner where it went farther into the street. Her words were once again barely whispered, full of fear and pain.

"Can't understand what's happened here,

Why is everything so wrong?

Darkness here, and darkness there,

Where has the day's light gone?"

The darkness seemed to close in on her huddled form, the shadows reaching for her with clawed fingers, the wind trailing along her skin, raising goosebumps as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the suffocating memory of her coffin away as she gasped out the words to the song.

"Take a chance? No way. That would be too simple,

Logic has no place for me, So instead I run,

Run from my uncertainties, Flee from my despair,

Hold my feeling tight and close, Don't let hope get too far."

Shuddering, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled away from where she had been sitting, away from the walls pressing against her skin, suddenly and unbearably claustrophobic. She limped back toward the road and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, trying to control her breathing.

"Can't understand what's happened here,

Why is everything so wrong?

Darkness here, and darkness there,

Where has the day's light gone?"

A car suddenly rushed past her in a blaze of light and sound, startling her so much that she fell backwards, scraping her hands on the rough sidewalk.

Her heart pounding, aching with the sudden need to be near someone, she retreated from the road and forced herself to move in the direction she had last seen people.

She could see fires burning in the streets, small, contained fires in big metal drums. They were the same kind she'd huddled around with the other street-kids all those years ago when she had run away to LA. That had been before she had gotten her job at the diner, of course. But it had been bad.

She reached where most of the fires were burning, but to her dismay, the streets were empty, as if everyone had cleared out. She was alone in the night. A lump formed in her throat, making it hard to breathe as she tried to hold back her tears once again. This time they fell, rolling down her cheeks, seemingly without end.

It was the first time she had cried since she had gotten back. So many times she'd been close. And now that it had started, she couldn't stop. But somehow, though her sobs, she still managed to voice the words to the song of her heart, telling of her desperate loneliness.

"Can't breathe, so lost in the dark,

Alone in my despair, the only one,

the Chosen One, No one to turn to, so I run!"

The darkness seemed to lung toward her, and with a gasp, she took off, her only thought to get away, to get back to the Bronze where her friends were waiting for her, to get back to the relative safety of her home. But her tears blinded her, and she stumbled though the streets blindly, taking wrong turns and passing others until she found herself in an alley that didn't let out.

"Nowhere left to run, Trapped at a dead end,

nowhere left to turn, So I stand, cornered."

Her words were whispered, more to herself than anything. A shadow lurched wildly on the wall of the alley, and she shrank back, before she realized that it was her own shadow, thrown and twisted by the fire burning just a few feet away.

She wiped her eyes roughly and swallowed a deep breath of air, trying to settle her pounding heart as she gathered her courage. Then she spun around, facing the mouth of the alley, and shouted a challenge to the night, trying to mask her fear with a cold determination that she didn't feel.

"You won't take me down, I don't need light to see that,

So throw at me all you've got, And I'll beat you back again!"

As if to answer her challenge, something shifted in the air. The shadows, which before had seemed to reach for her, drew back, as if afraid. The wind grew silent, and for a moment, there was stillness, broken only by the pounding of her heart.

That was when she heard it.

The sound.

The sound that was as old as it was new, that whooshing, rattling sound that was almost impossible to describe, and seemed to reverberate from the very essence of the world around her.

She knew that sound.

She staggered backwards a step when the blue box began to materialize, fading into existence with the flash of the lantern on its top. Then the sound stopped, and the box sat there, silent.

A sob caught in her throat.

A moment passed.

Then the door opened. _He_ stepped out.

She stumbled forward, the tears still streaming down her face, blinding her, but it didn't matter; she would recognize him anywhere. She had seen him too many times in her dreams not to.

"Doctor!" she cried as she suddenly remembered his name, lurching toward him, her legs giving way beneath her as an entire lifetime of memories tore though her mind, overwhelming it.

He caught her before she could hit the ground.

She stared up at him with blurring eyes, and weakly reached a hand to his face. Her fingers brushed his cheek, and a small, broken smile lit up her face for a moment before her hand fell limp, her eyes closing as she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

**...This is my fav part ^ (No, seriously, everytime I read it, I start grinning like a mad man with a box...I actually drew a cartoon about it. There's a link on my profile o.O)**

**:D**

**Running was originally supposed to be a super-long one-shot, but it was taking me too long to finish it, and I really, really wanted to post it, so I decided that I'd break it up into seperate chapters. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I had fun writing it ^^**

**The idea for this story was inspired by two, no, three, things. **

**#1: Chemeleon Circuit, the Doctor Who Timelord-rock (Trock) band. Especially their song, An Awful Lot Of Running, which this story is, in part, named after.**

**#2: Secooper87's _Adventures of a Line-Hopper _series, for making me realize how absolutely _awesome_ Buffy and the Doctor are together.**** This is also sort of (And I mean sort of) named after something in one of her stories, _Blue Box Bad_. Because he runs. And she runs. So, everybody is running ^^**

**#3: And, last but not least, me wanting to stop _Seeing Red_ from happening, lol ^^ (If you don't know what it is, DO NOT LOOK IT UP. _SPOILERS, SPOILERS, SPOILERS!_)**

**.**

**.**

**Did I mention I gladly accept anonymous reviews? Don't be shy! :D**


	2. The Scoobies' Lament

**Second 'chapter' Yaaay ^^**

* * *

Willow's voice was hesitant and broken, but her feelings, which had been building for the last few days, refusing to become song until now, had to be voiced. "It was so dark before, Couldn't see a thing, And now I wish I'd thought ahead, Be careful what you wish for, 'Cause we got what we sought, And now we're burning in the fire of our own creation." She slowly fell to her knees, and bowed her head in horrified remorse.

Anya, who had before been standing to the side in Xander's arms, moved toward the fallen Willow and stood next to her, her face directed toward the sky she knew was beyond the ceiling of the Bronze. "Darkness is closing in on us, I can hear its distant call, Nothing will ever be the same again, we're caught in change's eternal maw."

Dawn quickly picked up the thread of the song and swung her legs over the edge of the stage and sat there, her arms folded, face turned to the side as she gazed at the door where her sister had recently fled. "Something is stirring in the dark, something we can't outrun, never again will we have the will to fight it, because everything is ending, and there can be no return."

Tara and Giles's voices rose up, somehow more magical and sad than all of the others' combined. "Now we're caught in the fire, And the way out, we cannot see, blinded by fear, We're struggling through the smoke, Toward that one guiding light, shining so far away. Caught in the fire of our own creation, With nothing to be done to stop it, We can do nothing but wait for the flames to climb." Their voices faded away.

Only Xander remained silent, his many emotions too complex to put into words. It was his fault, after all, that they knew the truth.

So, as one, all of the Scoobies moved toward the door, a single shared thought in their heads. To find the friend they had wronged.

* * *

**Mmmmmm...Sorry for the shortness. But it was orignally part of a big one-shot, and there's not much I can do about it now. I'll update...three chapters today, though, to make up for it.**


	3. Playing With Fire

**Ah, Spike. This was fun. It let me bring out my inner demon *Muwahahahahahahaha!* Well, the song _IS_ creepy ^^ (As it should be!)**

* * *

Spike stood, unnoticed, in the shadows under the stairs. He watched them in silence as they filed out the door, his eyes full of confusion, anger, and a sick sort of glee that he almost wished he didn't feel.

They'd finally learned the truth. They'd realized their mistake. They were finally being punished. Finally, they had to bear a pittance of the guilt that had dogged him ever since the Slayer had thrown herself into that portal, ever since she had told him her world shattering secret.

And he could do nothing about it. Couldn't punish the people who had done this to the girl who had saved their sorry excuses for lives. The threat had been in her voice, darkening it almost beyond recognition, so full of pain and fear and anger.

And Spike had realized at that moment that the words Giles had spoken all those months ago were true.

She wasn't like them. She was a hero.

His voice was low and sad when he began to sing, the words echoing with the weight of more than a century of violence and sorrow. "Those stumbling fools, their hands painted with blood, They've no idea what they do, playing with fire, Giving no thought to what might happen when the match is lit, And as they light the flame, they cry for the broken girl to save them, Never once stopping to think, to ask themselves, As they drop the matches to the ground, where they catch, The fire bursting out, consuming everything around them, If they're even worth saving anymore."

He stood for a moment, glaring down at the floor in deep thought, his hands fisted at his sides, his knuckles white. Then his face suddenly twisted into an angry snarl, and he stalked out of the club. He needed a smoke.

…He needed to find her.

* * *

**Aww, Spike! ^^**

**Again, can't do anything about the shortness, but I appologize for it nonetheless ^^**


	4. Remembering Heaven

**Fourth 'chapter'. Yay ^^**

**And the Point of Veiw cycle begins again! =D**

* * *

The rough ground of the alley beneath her was the first thing she noticed when she began to regain awareness of her surroundings. But she couldn't move. Her body felt as heavy as if it had been hollowed out and filled in with concrete.

All of a sudden, cool fingers closed around her wrist, and her mind quickly sparked with panic, but then she felt the familiar da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum of his double-heartbeat thrumming against her skin, and immediately relaxed. She was safe. It was him. The Doctor.

She struggled to open her eyes, to move. She had to tell him; he had to know. She was sorry, so, so sorry. She'd forgotten everything he'd told her; she'd killed ruthlessly, without mercy, hadn't even given them a choice! She could have helped them!

How many lives had she ended? More than she could count, surely, but how many in the last few months, when she should have known better? When he'd told her that everything deserved a second chance, or however many were needed?

Twenty? No, fifty, at the very least. Oh, gods, what had she done?

"Doctor…'m so sorr…" she whispered, her voice hardly more than a breath. But he heard her.

But still, her eyes wouldn't open. He couldn't see her eyes, couldn't see the horror and the pain and the _guilt_ in them. He wouldn't understand.

"It's okay!" he said quickly, his words slightly frantic, tinged with a fear she'd only heard once in his voice. His assurance did nothing to quell her horror. He didn't _understand_. But she was so weak, couldn't even move, didn't have the strength to speak again, to tell him what she had done.

He continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil, trying to calm her, "Whatever it is you've done, I forgive you! Just, just don't die on me, okay? Because I'm sure you're a wonderful person, and I'd really like to get to know you better!"

His words almost had her heart breaking. _He didn't know her._

"It's me!" she whispered, forcing her mouth to move, "It's me, Naani, it's me, Jess—" But her words suddenly cut off as a sound filled her ears, drowning out the world around her. The same sound that she had heard as she jumped off Glory's tower to save the world. The same sound she had heard as she fell to her death, hundreds of feet below. As her scream was lost in the chaos of the electricity tearing her apart. The same sound she'd heard on the beach, right before she woke up in her coffin.

She could remember now. She remembered heaven.

She remembered meeting the Doctor when she helped him save her planet from an asteroid impact that would have wiped out all life and restarted the evolutionary cycle. And no one noticed a thing. The Doctor and Jessana. They were the only ones who knew how close Xeyvokiir had come to destruction. She remembered accepting his offer to see the stars, and all the adventures that came after. She remembered meeting John, stricken by amnesia, when the TARDIS had landed them on Earth in the year 2008.

And she remembered meeting River Song for the first, and only, time. It was the first time she'd seen the Doctor cry.

And for just a second, she heard his voice clearly though the haze, shouting, calling to her, his voice full of horror and pain and the fear of being alone; "NO!"

Because he didn't know. Didn't understand. All he saw was a girl dying in his arms, a girl that he couldn't save. No one could. Because she didn't belong here. It truly wasn't her world anymore. She knew that now, more than she ever had before. She knew it in her heart, and her soul, and the sound of his voice, and the double heartbeat against her hand.

But then the world turned to fire, and she knew no more.

* * *

**Once more (with feeling). Shortness. I can do nothing. **

**Thanks for reading this far ^^**

**A review would be an awesome birthday present (it was on the 2nd) :D**


	5. The Scoobies Form a Plan

**Oh, lookie. The Scoobies again!**

* * *

The Scoobies were out searching, flashlights in hand, but practically useless for the glares the fires burning every few ten feet or so cast in their eyes. When Tara and Anya's flashlights simultaneously flickered and died, the others wisely chose to take it as a sign from the gods, and turned theirs off.

They continued walking, peering into alleyways, calling her name. After a few minutes, they stopped for a rest and gathered around one of the barrels of fire.

Tara glanced at Dawn, and saw that she was practically dead on her feet.

"How about me and Willow take Dawn home, and you guys keep looking?" she asked, looking at Xander, Anya and Giles. "Maybe she went to the house and we're out here in the cold, worrying for no reason. And, if she's not there, we could always try a locator spell."

Anya pulled her hands back from over the fire and put them on her hips, turning to Xander as she did so, "But how come they get to go home?" she demanded, as if he held all the secrets of the universe, her voice taking on that whining pitch that shouldn't have come from anyone older than a teenager, "I mean, I can do magic too! And my feet hurt, plus I'm tired, and I'm just plain exhausted from all these stupid back and forth emotions! First we're sad, because she died, then we're happy, because she's back, and now we're sad again because it turns out we ruined her life, death, _whatever_! It's like tug of war with my feelings! I feel like a sacrificial Koorolan in a ceremony to summon the goddess Lurnoram!" She was almost shouting by the end.

An awkward silence followed her rather violent outburst. Giles mumbled something incoherent and pulled his glasses off to clean them on his shirt. Tara sighed inwardly and held her hands up for peace. "Umm, okay," she said, directing her words at Anya in a soothing voice, "Then you go home with Willow and Dawn, do the spell, and I'll stay here with the guys and keep looking, does that work better?"

Anya hesitated for a moment, looking between Willow and Dawn and Xander, trying to decide if she really _was_ all that tired. She didn't really want to leave him. What if he started singing again? What if he sang about her? What if she missed it?

Then the thought occurred to her that if she went with Willow and Dawn, he'd have to think about how it felt to be away from her. Maybe that would make him want to get married sooner. And the sooner they got married, the sooner she could be with him forever, and the sooner people would give her wedding presents—_expensive_ wedding presents! A smile lit up her face.

"Yes, that is a _much_ better plan." She said grinning widely, "Thank you!" She then turned to Dawn and tugged on her arm, startling the younger girl—who had almost fallen asleep standing up—and starting to pull her away in the direction of her house, calling "Come on, Willow!" over her shoulder. Willow opened her mouth to speak, then slowly shut it again, shook her head in dismay, and trudged after the fast-walking ex-vengeance demon.

Tara and Giles raised their eyebrows at Anya's behavior, but said nothing. Xander just shook his head in amusement, all too used to his fiancé's seemingly random mood swings. "So," he said, trying to get them back on track, "Which way do we want to go? And please, no one suggest splitting up, because that way only leads to badness, and people being eaten by big scary demon monsters. And by people, I mean me."

Giles rolled his eyes. "Xander," he said impatiently, turning his flashlight back on with the vain hope that it would be of some help, "Why would we split up? We'd have no way to contact one another, even if we found her, seeing as only Tara and Willow have phones."

Xander just shrugged by way of answer, and turned away from the fire, taking the initiative and choosing which direction they would search in, swinging the small first aid kit he carried—just in case—as he walked. Tara and Giles followed him a moment later, with Tara casting only a quick, worried glance back over her shoulder to the slowly retreating form of her girlfriend.

Well, she thought sadly, with just the barest hint of anger, soon to be _ex_-girlfriend…

* * *

**Yeahhhhh...**

**(Willow was _really_ getting on my nerves. I mean, I love her [And those awesome hats she always used to wear], but mind-controlling Tara? That's going too far.)**

**Again, so sorry for the shortness :/ it's probably annoying :(**

**Again, thanks for sticking with it ^^ lol. Please review?**


	6. Spike

**Lol, lol. Oh, the humor. THE HUMOR!**

* * *

Spike let his face twist into a vampiric snarl, his eyes flashing amber, rage fueling the deep growl that rumbled in his chest, and the rough looking stray tabby that had decided he looked like a cat person flattened its ears, let out a startled hiss, and bolted away, leaving him standing alone in the deserted alley he had found himself in.

He exhaled sharply though his nose, trying to get rid of the smell of the cat. It was hard enough to track the Slayer by scent alone, but now? Now it would be practically impossible.

He clenched his fists and glared in the direction the cat had run off to. "Mangy rat eater!" he yelled, almost tempted to run after it. But then he immediately dismissed the thought. Fully grown cats tasted something foul, nothing at all like kittens.

Sighing in defeat, he slumped against the wall and fished around in his pockets, looking for his cigarettes. When he pulled out an empty box and realized he was out, he threw his hands into the air in frustration and whirled around, looking for something to hit.

He decided on the wall.

A brick broke in half under the force of his blow, and pain flared through his hand. He hissed and held it up to see that one of his knuckles was broken. "Great." He muttered, glaring at the wall as if it had instigated him into hitting it and breaking his hand, "That's just bloody swell!" he chuckled bitterly, then sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

He was about to just give up and go back to his crypt when the wind swept through the alley, flooding his senses. He froze. He thought he'd heard something. He silently moved toward the mouth of the alley, straining his ears to catch the familiar sound again.

Yes! There it was! Her heartbeat, not so far away…

…But something was wrong. The faint scent of her blood hung on the air, and her heartbeat, it was too slow, it was…it was…it was _slowing_…!

His eyes widened in horror and he took off out of the alley as realization of what that meant crashed into his mind. Something was wrong, heartbeats weren't supposed to be that slow. She was _dying_!

And then he caught the second heartbeat. The double heartbeat.

A demon.

Something with two hearts and sunlight in its veins. And he knew that he should stay away, should run far, far away from this thing, because it would destroy him…but it was near her, and she was dying. _It was_ _killing_ _her_.

Her faint heartbeat stuttered…

And then…

…then it stopped altogether.

"NO!" he roared, racing toward the last echo of the sound—and the creature that would kill him—as if all the angels of heaven gave chase.

* * *

**Run, Spike! Run! ^^**

**Review? **

***Holds up kitten so he can give puppy-dog-eyes* ( -Yeah, I know. Doesn't make sense. Just run with it :D)**


	7. Hidden Revelations

**=O**

**And the cycle restarts...AGAIN!**

* * *

For a moment, she was surrounded by nothing. For a moment, she _was_ nothing.

Then the moment passed, and she was surrounded by light that shone red behind her closed eyes. She gasped, and forced her eyes to open as she bolted upright.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, forcing her back down, and black spots danced before her eyes until she saw only darkness. She closed her eyes to wait for it to pass and lifted a shaking hand to her throbbing head.

It passed after a few seconds, and she blinked her eyes a few times before carefully sitting up again, slowly, this time, and looking around.

She was in a hospital room. White walls and floor, soft colored furniture against the walls, a door opening to what looked like a bathroom to her right, a closed door that must have led out to the hall on the far side of the room, an open window behind her letting the soothing smell of applegrass drift in. She blinked, confused for a second. Applegrass? Wha…

Then her eyes widened in realization and she didn't know whether she wanted to shout for joy or cry. But where was the Doctor? He had been with her, right before she closed her eyes, but…

Already, the memories were growing fuzzy, slipping away from her. Then she blinked again, and they were gone completely. All she knew was that she was in a hospital.

Then she noticed the mirror on the wall across from her. Her reflection gazed worriedly back at her. She was about to look away, but then frowned. Something seemed…off…

She stared at the mirror for a few minutes, trying to spot what was different, but couldn't figure it out. Her skin was its normal light gold color, nothing had changed about that, or the small, blue circle tattoos that decorated her arms…

Then her eyes widened when as she suddenly realized what was wrong about her reflection.

Her eyes.

One, the right one was her normal dark orange and red, but the other…it..it was _blue_. A blue so light it could almost be mistaken for grey. It was so out of place against the darker reds of her other eye. How…?

Abruptly, she shook her head and forced herself to look away from the mirror. She would figure it out later. "Doctor?" she whispered, looking around cautiously, her worries suddenly flooding to the front of her mind. How had she gotten here? What was going on? What was wrong with her?

She could have sworn she had just seen the Doctor.

She could hear people talking though the door that led to the hall, and saw shadows rushing past. Nurses, she realized, but the thought did nothing to calm her. She wracked her brain, trying to remember anything that would help her understand what was happening.

The last thing she remembered for sure was stepping out of the TARDIS onto the beach on Kantarvi-4. She remembered seeing the sky, green with swirls of blue and white clouds, and the sparkling orange water, so clear that you could see almost to the bottom if you flew over it. She remembered as John laughed, and ran past her, daring her to race him. She'd stepped out of the TARDIS, had felt the automatic sand shift beneath her feet, adjusting to the perfect temperature for her species…and then…

Her heart began to pound, and she reflexively raised a hand to her head in remembered pain. It had felt as if someone were tearing at her mind, tearing into her very self. She remembered falling to her knees, pulling her hand away from her head, sure it would be covered in blood…everything going black as she screamed in the terror that had suddenly filled her…

A small green light on a machine on the wall near her bed began to flash in sync with her speeding heart. An intercom system throughout the building crackled to life. It emitted three quick beeps to gain attention, and she heard the voices in the hallway fall silent as their owners waited for the announcement.

"Code twelve. All telepathic staff please report to the Time Chamber to await further instructions. Repeat: Code twelve. All telepathic staff please report to the Time Chamber to await further instructions. Thank you."

The three beeps came again, signaling the end of the message.

She started to wonder what it meant, but at that moment, the door across from her opened, and someone she'd been starting to think she'd never see again burst into the room, sending all of her thoughts spiraling away into silence.

He was wearing the same old familiar red and gold jacket he always did. He stood in the doorway, starring at her, amazement written on his face. She stared back. She longed to leap into his arms, to tell him that she loved him, that she had missed him so much, but something held her back.

Because, suddenly couldn't remember his name. It had dissapeared in an instant. The thought struck her like a lightning bolt of sadness. The love of her life, and she couldn't remember his name. The world blurred, and she knew that tears had gathered in her eyes.

"…S-Spike?" She finally guessed, her tear-filled eyes wide and apologetic.

He swallowed, and looked like he was on the verge of tears as well when he realized that she didn't remember him. "Jess," he said softly, moving closer, "It—it's me, John? R-remember?"

She quickly nodded, and opened her mouth to speak—but before she could, sharp pain suddenly exploded behind her eyes, and whatever words she had been about to speak became a cry of pain as the world around her was engulfed in a blindingly white light.

It lasted no more than a second, but to her, it felt like hours.

And then the darkness came from nowhere, and swallowed her whole.

* * *

**You know, I didn't realize the irony of this until long after I wrote it o.O**

**Did _you_ get it?**

**She's in a hospital? After she'd just ranted about them and how there was no way anyone would put her in one? Lol. **

**Thanks for staying with the story ^^ Feedback is amazing. *Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, ya know what I mean?* **


	8. Tara's Song

**Poor Dawnie :/**

* * *

As soon as they got back to the house, Dawn rushed up the stairs, not even waiting for the others to get though the door. Forgetting her earlier exhaustion, she ran down the short hallway and flung her sister's door open, not even bothering to knock.

Disappointment dropped like a blanket over her when she saw that the room was empty. Letting her gaze drop to the floor, and trudged back to the stairs, her steps heavy and defeated.

"She's not here." she said, directing her words to Anya and Willow, who stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her hopefully.

Willow nodded, not at all sure if she was that disappointed that her friend wasn't there. She didn't really know what she was going to say to her when she saw her again…not after knowing what she had put her though…

Anya, though, didn't seem put out in the least. "Oh well." She said, "I didn't really think she would be here anyways, I mean, if I were her, I wouldn't want to be around the people who tore me out of eternal happiness, and clouds and harps and singing, and then forgot to dig my coffin up in the process—which, you know, was really kind of shortsighted on our part, and—" She faltered when she saw the looks on Dawn and Willow's faces, and hastily switched tracks, infusing her voice with false cheer. "Um, uh, well! Are we gonna do that locator spell or what?"

Not giving them time to answer, she rushed into the living room to find a map of Sunnydale.

* * *

On the other side of town, Xander, Giles and Tara continued their search by foot.

"Hey, Tara," Xander said suddenly, when a thought occurred to him as he shone his flashlight down a dark alley, "Couldn't you just do that weird firefly spell thing you did when we all got separated with the biker demons?" He didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him before.

Tara frowned and paused thoughtfully. "Well, maybe," she said, then grinned, "Actually, yeah, it shouldn't be too hard. And, it would be faster to find her if we had two spells going t once. Nice thinking, Xan." She said, smiling at him.

He grinned, puffing up his chest a little and saluting, trying to ease the worried tension with humor.

Giles once again cleaned his glasses, a habit he really needed to break. "Yes, well," he said, "I think that as long as Tara's spell works and none of us burst into song again, we should be able to find her in no time." He put his glasses back on again, the world growing clear once more, only to see both Tara and Xander glaring at him. "What?" he demanded.

Xander smacked himself in the face. "Knock, knock!" he snapped.

"Xander, what are—" Giles started, but Xander cut him off.

"Knock, knock!"

Tara sighed quietly and crossed her arms over her chest, looking back and forth from each man as their conversation continued.

"We're supposed to be looking for her, not wasting time with childish games!" Giles had the sudden, childish urge to stamp his foot. He mentally sighed in resignation. Being around children so much was starting to rub off on him.

"Knock. Knock."

"You consider this conversation more important than finding her, do you?" Giles finally snapped, his anxiety making his words as sharp as a knife.

Tara rolled her eyes and started the chant that would summon the guiding spirit.

"Knock! Knock!" Xander insisted, ignoring the jibe. There was a lesson to be taught here.

Giles sighed tiredly, giving up. "Who's there?"

"Jinxing."

"Jinxing who?"

"Jinxing us, that's who!" Xander exclaimed, punching Giles on the shoulder, "You're so lucky we're not in a movie now, because if we were, we'd all be singing, just because you said that!"

"Xander, I hardly—"

This time, it was Tara who interrupted him, as she suddenly burst, rather loudly, into song. "The shadows slowly melt away, With whispers soft as snow, The stars sing softly overhead, Leading me from the darkness, Racing me towards the light, As the sun sets on the far away horizon."

Xander and Giles stared at her, slack jawed, as she began spinning, her arms out and her head tilted up, as if she were singing to the night. "The clear blue sky calls to me, Its song I'll never forget, Calling to me, calling to me, As the lonely god wanders, His throne burnt to cinders, But his name never forgotten."

"Ummm…" Xander said, scratching his head and looking at Giles with a raised eyebrow, "Do I _really_ need to say I told you so?"

Giles slowly shook his head. "No, no, I…think got the message...Although I'm pretty sure this time it was your fault." He sighed heavily. "Shall we just ignore her, in the hope that it is not contagious and that this nightmare ends soon? I, for one, have done enough singing to last me a lifetime."

Xander experimentally opened and closed his mouth a few times—testing to see if he suddenly burst into song, apparently—then grinned. "Pretty sure I'm out for the count this time, G-man." He said, then, before Giles had a chance to react to his hated nickname, Xander stuck his fingers in his ears and followed the still twirling Tara, repeating a loud mantra of. "Lalala, I'm not listening, Lalala I'm not listening, I'm not listening, Lalalalalalalala."

Tara continued her dancing, then hopped onto the curb and tip-toed along it like a little kid. "Soon, I'll spread these wings, And dance among those points of light, Trading secrets with the hidden angels, Leaving behind this eternal darkness, And all it holds within its maw, To join the jester in his court!" She laughed at the end, and leapt back down onto the road, almost running into Xander as she did so.

He quickly fled to the opposite sidewalk, afraid that he'd start dancing with her. He thought he would die of shame if he started skipping down the road. "Lalalalalala, I'm not listening!" he cried, his voice rising.

But apparently, Tara didn't care about his pride. She twirled toward him, grabbed his arms, and yanked him into a spin that seemed to go on forever. "Whoa!" he cried, almost falling.

Behind them, Giles let his face fall into his hands. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh at Xander's expense, or curl up in a ball and wait for it to go away, for fear that he would be next.

Tara abruptly released Xander, who staggered drunkenly and almost ran into Giles, who, luckily, caught him. She continued to sing, oblivious. "Together, we'll dance through the sky, Laughing and singing with the ghosts, Only the future can be foreseen, Because the past is all there is, Death can only be mourned by us, Because life is all we are and all we see."*****

She lifted her hands into the air and twirled them in circles. Blue sparks trailed after them, and suddenly, a small green fire-fly like light appeared, hovered for a second, then darted off ahead.

"Soon, I'll spread these wings, And dance among those points of light, Trading laughter with the lonely god, Leaving behind this eternal darkness, And all it holds within its maw, To join the angels in their song." And she continued to twirl and dance down the street, following the small green glow of the spirit guide, while Xander and Giles were forced to trudge miserably after her, both of them wondering what in the world her song meant.

* * *

**Footnote: ...Everytime I read this part...I get this crazy grin on my face as I laugh at poor Xander and Giles...**

**Then I feel like crying. **

**:(**

**Rest In Peace A.A.C.**


	9. Not When It Counted

**Spike looked at her, then hesitated. Finally, "I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but ... after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again ... do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways..." He trailed off, then said softly, "Every night I saved you."**

**This one's a long one. I think it deserves a review. I've got tons of people reading this, and only three (Well, maybe two. Depends if Salt Shaker and Pepper Shaker are the same person or twins that decided to be name-buddies ^^) of you have left me some feedback. **

**:D**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

It was all Spike could do to keep himself from collapsing at the sight of her body lying on the ground. Despair swept through him. He couldn't hear her heart beating.

Time seemed to stop as he stared at her face, desperately searching for any sign of life. Her eyes were closed, her mouth turned up in the smallest of smiles. A single tear had caught on her cheek, refusing to fall any farther.

She lay in the arms of the demon with sunlight in its veins. It was in the guise of a young man with incredibly spiky, dark red hair, a pink shirt under a black waist coat, green and grey pants, and brown leather sandals that looked like they had been stolen right out of a _Julius Caesar_ play.

Mismatched clothing, something he had seen too many times, usually on vampires who weren't aware that their decade had passed long ago. A futile attempt to appear human, and something that spoke of inexperience when dealing with them. Everything his eyes could see pointed to this idiot demon either being weak, stupid, or both.

But all of his instincts screamed at him to run, run, because this creature would destroy him and leave nothing to say that he had ever existed, not even ashes for the wind. The large blue police box behind it seemed like a silent and imposing sentinel, quietly ominous and threatening.

If it weren't for the fact that the demon looked like a human—the mere thought of harming anything that even _looked_ human made the chip in his head spark with excruciating pain—he wouldn't have hesitated to kill it on the spot.

So he only hesitated for half a second. He crouched, ready to tear its hearts out for what it had done, the chip in his head be damned. It could fry his brain for all he cared. Because he had lost her, again.

But then it looked up at him, and its deep grey eyes were shinning with a sadness so ancient that it was almost incomprehensible. "I…I couldn't save her." It whispered, as if unable to believe the words. It shed no tears, but its eyes screamed horror and sorrow.

Spike felt a sudden and inexplicable wave of weakness wash over him as it spoke. She was dead. He'd known she was, but somewhere deep in his mind, he'd been trying to deny it.

He took a step forward, stumbled, and finally succumbed to the temptation to collapse to his knees. The thing wouldn't hurt him. Because it knew his pain. He sensed, somehow, that it understood without having to say a word, that he had loved her.

And it didn't care that he was a vampire, didn't care that he wasn't human, didn't care that he didn't have a soul, not like the others, who pushed him away and scorned him. Unable to be human, but no longer willing to be a monster…

He reached a shaking hand out to touch her cheek. "That's the…the thing about magic," He whispered, and for a moment, he wasn't sitting inches from a demon that could kill him in a second. He wasn't in a deserted alley. He was alone with her, in the past, watching her run across the platform, unable to feel the gravel beneath his knees, or hear the double heartbeat that was as deafening as a drum.

He was watching her leap to her death in the place of her sister. He was watching her fall, the devastating electricity engulfing her, killing her. He was watching as the others gathered around her body. He was watching the stars growing dim as the sky filled with a darkness that would never end for him, because she was dead, had died to save the world…but now?

Suddenly, the present rushed back into focus, and the darkness of despair yawned before him like an endless abyss.

Because there was no purpose to this death. It was meaningless. No one had been saved by this death. She hadn't been fighting to protect innocents. Hadn't been struck down in the never ending battle of good versus evil.

No.

It was _pointless_. As if fate had flipped a coin. As if the universe were an uncaring wind, tossing them like frantic insects over an ocean.

He felt his unbeating heart break for the second time."There's always a price. Always…and…this was ours…" he whispered, drawing his hand back and biting his knuckles to keep the sudden tears behind his eyes at bay. He didn't even know what had happened to her.

The demon looked up at him then, its eyes still glittering with sorrow, but now there was a glimmer of something darker hidden in their depths. A horrible suspicion. "What magic?"

Spike almost flinched at the sudden venom in its voice, and spoke quickly, hoping to ease its anger. His body trembled from the strain of resisting the urge to flee. "They—her…friends," he said, unable to help the way he twisted the word, as if it were something disgusting, something dangerous, "They…brought her back… from the dead." he said, instinctively leaning away when the demon's glare grew hard as stone, even though his heart screamed at him to stay near her, to protect her, though it would be pointless now. She was dead, after all…just like she'd wanted. "She… said she'd been in heaven…she hated it here…she— "

In a sudden and violent flash of movement, the demon leapt at him in a blur of color, yanked him to his feet by his throat, and slammed him against the brick wall of the alley before Spike even had time to realize that it had moved. His head cracked backwards into the brick, and for a moment, his vision blackened to stars. He felt a trickle of blood roll down and drip onto his neck.

"_What was her name?_" the demon hissed, fury blazing in its eyes.

His terror suddenly taking over, Spike clawed unthinkingly at the hand against his throat that pressed him to the wall. He couldn't even think to answer it. The demon only squeezed harder in response, and though he didn't need to breathe, the pain from simply having the thing touch him was almost unbearable.

Smoke began to swirl up from his neck. It was _burning_ him. It was the sunlight in its veins. He could feel it, coursing like a river of molten lava, just a hands breath away from him, held at bay only by a thin layer of skin.

He tried to morph into his vampire face—an attempt to both fuel his strength so that he could escape its burning hold, and intimidate the demon—but not a moment after his vampiric snarl appeared, the pain in his throat somehow managed to intensify tenfold. Flames burst into life and arced his skin.

With a cry, the demon released its hold on him and leapt away, its eyes wide. Spike collapsed to the ground, clutching his burnt and bleeding throat.

The demon stared at him, then slowly raised one of its trembling hands and stared at it. "What…" its head turned back to look at Spike. "I…I did it…I'm the reason…" it whispered in horror, its eyes widening impossibly wider. It stumbled backwards and almost fell over her body.

It stared down at her in horror, then turned its desperately sorrowful eyes back to Spike and stuttered, "John, I-I'm sorry, I know you don't know me yet, but—! I—it's just they—they've done something to her!" It exclaimed, gesturing agitatedly with both hands to her body. "She knew me! She called me Nani! And I don't know how or why, but it was her!"

Spike could only stare. The thing was changing its emotions so quickly he couldn't keep up. Nothing it did made sense. How did it know his name? Any _why_ was it calling him John?

And it was at that moment that the small green light Xander, Giles and Tara had been following appeared at the mouth of the alley and darted towards the body the demon still stood in front of.

It appeared startled, and stepped back in surprise. "Wha—" it started to say, but was interrupted by the pounding of several feet on gravel. A second later, Tara burst into the alley, closely followed by Xander and Giles.

"Hey—!" Tara started to exclaim, sure they had found the Slayer, but stopped suddenly as she realized that there were more people in the alley than she had expected.

She saw Spike first, and her eyes widened when she saw the harsh burn on his throat, and turned to run to him—he was almost, well, pretty much…_well_…yeah, actually, he _was_ a friend—when she spotted, out of the corner of her eye, the demon.

She skidded to a stop and stared, her eyes widening. "_Naani_?"

It stared back with the same amount of confusion and shock. "_Tara_?"

None of the new arrivals noticed the body lying in the shadows behind the demon, distracted, for the moment, by this strange twist of events. Giles and Xander just stood, starring from Tara to the demon and back again in confusion, wondering how they knew each other.

They didn't even know it was a demon. They didn't understand.

They couldn't hear its double heartbeat like Spike could, or sense the fire inside of it, or see the waves of absolute _wrongness_ that made the air around it shimmer like heat waves. It didn't belong there.

It _shouldn't_ have been there. It was an abomination.

But the three Scoobies in front of him had no way of knowing that.

Just as he had no way of knowing that his thoughts about the demon mirrored the thoughts that the girl that now lay dead in the shadows had been having, only she had been thinking of herself.

Spike tried to stand, to warn them to run, to protect them, because it's what she would have wanted, even now, after they had hurt her so much, but his body rebelled against him, and forced him to remain against the wall. Any sudden movement, his body insisted, and the demon would kill him. Just. Don't. Move.

So he forced himself to speak instead. But it was almost impossible. Even breathing—which he no longer needed to do, but did out of habit anyway—was agony, and when he tried, his words came out as a strangled whisper that none of the humans had any chance of hearing.

The demon flinched though, turning its head stiffly away from him, almost as if afraid to look at what it had done. As if it were afraid to admit that it could do something so horrible.

Giles, after internally warring with himself for a moment, slowly went over to Spike and knelt down next to him. "Let me see." he said, trying to be gentle, trying very, very hard to keep the dislike out of his voice as he reminded himself that Spike had been the one that had saved her from the fire earlier.

Spike slowly moved his hand away, revealing the ugly wound on his throat. Giles drew in a quick intake of breath. Then he quickly stood and moved toward Xander to take the first aid kit from him.

"R…Rupert…" Spike whispered hoarsely, trying with all his might to be heard, but to no avail.

Tara spoke again, unaware of what was going on behind her, or the fact that Spike was desperately burning holes into the back of her head with his stare. Confusion and alarm coloured her voice. She'd noticed the agonizing sorrow in the demon's eyes. "Naani…?" she asked tentatively, taking a small step forward, "Naani, what's wrong?"

It stared at the ground. "I…" Sorrow and rage warred within its voice, each fighting to take control. "Someone…they hurt her…" it whispered, sorrow momentarily winning.

Tara gasped softly and quickly closed the space in between her and the demon. She clutched its hands, forcing it to look at her. "Naani," she said, her voice almost panicked, "What happened? Where's Jessana?"

Behind her, Giles had returned to Spike with the first aid kit. He was about to reach for the vampire's neck, intending to press an ice pack to it—since there wasn't much else he could do until they got back to the Magic Box or one of the Scoobies' houses—when Spike suddenly gasped, and a moment later, spasmodically flailed one of his arms, knocking roughly into Giles's wrist and making him drop the ice pack.

He scowled, what little patience he had held for the vampire disappearing like a snowflake in a fire. "Hold still!" he growled, turning away to pick up the pack again. He snatched it off the ground. "What did you even do?" he snapped, turning back around, "Pick a fight with a—" he stopped suddenly.

Spike still had his arm held up. It was trembling. He was pointing behind Giles, his mouth fallen open in a silent scream, a look of such gut-wrenching horror on his face that Giles felt his heart freeze. He whipped around and followed the vampire's ice-blue gaze.

But he couldn't see what Spike was pointing at. The shadows were deep, and clouds covered the stars, cloaking the alley in only the dim, flickering light provided by the distant fires.

Human eyes couldn't see what had locked Spike's gaze, couldn't see what made him want to be sick. Couldn't see what made him want to suddenly be wiped out of existence just to get away from the horrific sight.

Giles reached for his flashlight.

* * *

**=O **

**The suspense is killing _me_, and I _know_ what's coming. I feel sorry for all of you!**

**Thanks for reading this far ^^**

**Feedback? Please? To let me know you exist other than the little icon on the graph in my story stats tab?**


	10. Like Fire and Ice

**Decided to update early today. For some reason, it feels later than 2:30 o.O**

**...This scene was inspired by reading a lot of stories by ****Cordria****...who is an amazing writer. If you love DP...you should read Pits. It's full of angst and drama and adventure, and will scar you for life...but it's just so...movie-esq...o.O**

* * *

She was trapped in a world of darkness, terrified, lost, and so very alone. Wind viciously howled and screamed around her, its chill touch freezing her to her bones. Her breath clouded in the air, and the tiny, sharp crystals were whipped toward her on the wind. Everywhere they landed, they spread their icy fingers, coating her skin in a sheet of ice. Her breathing sped of its own volition as panic set in, and she frantically tried to pry the ice off with her numb fingers, but it only made it worse.

More and more ice covered her, slowly freezing her solid, until she could no longer feel anything, not even the touch of the wind. Only the terrible cold that was eating her soul from the inside out.

She sat there, frozen, for longer than she could imagine. Then, far off on the horizon, a faint point of light appeared. Even from this distance, she could feel the warmth it gave off. Some of the ice started to melt. She could breathe again, and it wasn't crystallizing this time. She gasped for breath, still unable to move her arms and legs, and reached for the light with her mind, trying to pull it closer. At first it seemed to be working. Now she could move her arms. She began to claw at the ice still encasing her body, trying to free her legs so that she could run towards the warmth. Then the light faded.

"NO!" she screamed, fighting desperately to get to her feet, only to be knocked backward by the wind. Frost once more began to crawl along her skin, and she frantically sucked in a huge lungful of air and held it, still clawing at the ice covering her. After a painstakingly long time, she managed to stagger to her feet. But the light was long gone. She released her breath with a gasp, and dodged away from the resulting frost. "COME BACK!" She cried, forcing herself to stumble as quickly as she could in the direction the light had come from.

She reached out with her mind, hoping that she would somehow be able to track it. Her mind touched a lingering warmth, fading fast, and she ran toward the feeling. She stopped just before it, her hands reaching out, moving through the air in front of her, trying to find it, trying to somehow make it come back. Frost began to gather on her fingers.

And then, just as she was about to give up hope entirely, the light reappeared.

* * *

***Claps hands over mouth to keep from lauging* Darn you, **Digital Skitty**! I've started doing that! I'm picking up habits from someone that isn't even real! o.O**

* * *

**11/12/12:**

**:|**

**I _was_ going to have a giant rant/explanation here about what's been bugging me for the last week-ish. But I don't really feel like it. In a nutshell, my step-dad (soon to be non-step-dad) is an idiot. He and my mom split up (FINALLY! :D) But now he's demanding that we give him all this stuff that he really has no right to in the first place. Like the bunkbed that my step-sisters are/were currently sleeping on that used to belong to my older brother before he gave it to my twin and I. He's not taking it. We've had it for as long as I can remember. Waaaay before my mom ever met him. He's got no right to take it, and if he DID take it, our step-sisters would have no where to sleep when they come over. (Because they're still going to keep coming to our house. Because we're sisters, and we've practically known each otehr all our lives. We're family, whether he's in the picture or not. Doesn't really make a difference. All he did was sit in the recliner.)**

**It's annoying me :|**

**(Oh. Look. It _is_ sort of a big-ish explanation...)**

**...**

**Review to make me less annoyed so that I write faster? C'mon, please?**


	11. Things Go Wrong

**Took me so long to get here o.O**

**And, yay for you, because it's a long(er) chapter ^^**

**Cya at the bottom =)**

* * *

Anya and Willow stared at the map in front of them in confusion and dismay. "I-I don't understand!" Willow exclaimed, frustrated and worried, "We did everything right! Why isn't it working?" She glared at the map, but it stoically refused to give up the information it held.

It didn't make sense. The spell had definitely worked—she'd felt it—but nothing had happened. A point of light should have lit up the area where the Slayer was.

She started to go over the spell in her mind. Maybe they'd somehow made it look for the wrong person? Or maybe…

"Maybe it didn't work because she's not in Sunnydale anymore." Anya said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts almost as if she could hear them.

Willow stared at her in confusion, only half paying attention. "Why wouldn't she be in Sunnydale?" she asked, her mind still trying to go over the spell to see if there was anything they'd missed, even though she knew there wasn't.

Anya shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged. "I mean, come _on_." she said, her tone gaining Willow's full attention for the first time, "It _is_ a possibility. I mean, it's not like she's never run away before. Xander told me about how she took off after she had to kill Angel, and this situation is kinda like that." she frowned. "Okay, well, it's kinda like that, you know, just… except for the her stabbing her boyfriend and sending him to hell part of it…" she trailed off into silence as she realized what she'd said.

Because this time, it wasn't Angel who was in hell. It was their friend. And they had put her there.

"Uh, okay." Anya said, not looking at Willow, "Still a bit like that situation…"

Willow was suddenly very glad that she had won the argument with Dawn and the younger girl had gone upstairs to bed. She didn't know if she could stand the guilt if she were to have another person look at her accusingly, as if it were all her fault.

She felt worse than she ever had in her life, worse even than when Oz had found out she'd been cheating on him.

She didn't even bother to seriously think about Anya's point. She didn't want to. She didn't want it to be true. It couldn't be true. If she had run away, everything would have been for nothing. Her best friend would be gone, again, and this time, she wouldn't be able to do anything about it, and Sunnydale would be left undefended.

She shook her head, annoyed at herself. "She didn't run away." she said, mostly to convince herself. But all the same, she grabbed a bigger map, one that also showed the area surrounding Sunnydale, and put it between her and Anya.

She…couldn't have gone too far.

She wordlessly held her hands out to the ex-demon, who, for once, had no sarcastic comment on hand, and together, they poured the crushed quartz onto the map. Willow made sure that they had more this time than they had the first. The spell would have to be more powerful if they wanted it to cover more ground.

They used two pieces of their own hair to mark their place, and Willow pulled a long blonde hair out of the brush she had gotten from her friend's room, to identify the person they were looking for.

"Tell me again why is has to be hair?" Anya said suddenly, "It's just so…weird."

Willow sighed. "Hair connects to the head," she said, "Where the soul is. Giles explained it to me a while ago. I can't remember. Now shush. I need to concentrate."

She focused her gaze on the golden strand and made it float over the map. Then she and Anya took each other's hands and once more began to chant the incantation for the spell.

An invisible wind suddenly picked up around them, ruffling the edges of the map and making the curtains over the windows flap. The dust on the map swirled around like a hurricane, taking on the red-orange glow of coals, slowly spiraling upwards toward the still-floating, but now glowing brightly hair.

A moment passed in complete silence. The powdered crystal reached for the hair like a desperate hand reaching for the stars.

Then the magic burst out in an explosively huge pillar of light.

It reared back until it touched the ceiling, like a snake ready to strike and twisted, smaller streams wrapping around it, its glow almost blinding in the dim room. A low, horrible, almost silent growl-like sound filled the air, a combination of rushing air, clashing metal, and nails scraping against a chalk board.

Anya leapt backwards, accidentally knocking over the jar of powder as she did so. She released Willow's hands, which should have ended the spell. And it would have, if only she hadn't spilled the jar.

The sound grew louder, and the wind from before once more tore through the room, causing the vases sitting atop the fireplace to crash to the ground, where they shattered, sending shards of glass flying in every direction.

The light was so bright that Willow was forced to shield her eyes as she backed away, trying to focus her mind so that she could force the spell to end, but finding it hard as she wondered how Dawn hadn't noticed the commotion.

Anya dodged away from the tornado of light as it shot a whip-like tendril at her, and leapt behind the sofa for cover, somehow managing to catch one of the falling vases as she did so.

Willow wasn't so lucky. The vine that had tried to grab Anya twisted in the air and snapped towards her. It wrapped around her wrist, and before she could react, yanked her towards the writhing pillar.

Even behind the sofa, Anya had to shield her eyes from the blindingly bright flash of light that followed.

Silence, heavy and charged, filled the house. A minute passed.

Anya cautiously peeked out from behind the sofa, the vase she had caught still clutched to her chest. "Uh oh." She said, looking at Willow's slumped and unconscious form.

Dark, shadowy energy arced and jumped across her skin like electricity, and a black, slowly revolving halo surrounded her head.

"This is _not_ good." Anya said to the empty room, climbing cautiously to her feet. She quickly set the vase down on the sofa and reached for the coffee table and Willow's phone.

"Who do I call? Who do I call?" She frantically stared at the small screen of the phone, unsure for a moment how to work the small device. Then she remembered that Tara also had a phone, and that Tara was with Giles and Xander. "Oh." She muttered, dialing in the number "Right. Who am I gonna call? Of course. The ghost busters."

* * *

On the other side of town, Giles' flashlight flickered to life.

His entire body was tense, prepared to leap out of the way if the small beam of light revealed a horrifying monster, crouched and ready to strike. Years of training were kicking in as he crouched, gripping the flashlight tightly, ready to use it as a weapon, to hurl it at whatever horror lurked in the shadows, at …

…A pile of dust.

He stared.

Slowly, he blinked, and turned back to Spike, prepared to demand an explanation for the vampire's over-the-top reaction, but the question died in his throat when he saw that Spike had fallen unconscious, slumped over limply against the wall. He sighed, and was about to continue treating Spike's burn, when Tara's phone suddenly went off, shockingly loud in the still night, interrupting whatever conversation she and the strange man had been having, and startling everyone.

He dropped the ice pack again, and reached to grab it.

And then several things happened all at once.

Tara's phone clattered to the ground, still ringing, as it fell from her limp fingers. Everyone just stared at it for a few moments, before looking back at Tara, confused. She had frozen. Then her eyes widened, and she spun towards the man, as if to tell him something, but crumpled to the ground before she could speak.

The man—Giles suddenly realized he didn't know his name—caught her, a look of abject horror written on his face.

A non-existent wind suddenly blasted through the alley before pulling back, and a sudden whooshing, rattling sound filled the air along with a glow of light, swelling and fading in sync with the unnatural wind, and revealing the towering presence of a blue phone box that was wreathed in shadows, and had before been all but invisible in the darkness of the alley.

Giles' eyes widened. "Dear lord." He gasped, backing up in an awkward crab-walk until he reached Spike's unconscious side. He turned slowly to look at the man Tara had been talking to, and was now holding her, trying to wake her up, with Xander anxiously doing the same.

But Giles made no move to help. He was in shock.

Because he recognized that police box. He had seen it, oh, so very long ago. Right before everything changed, forever.

Suddenly regaining his wits, he leapt to his feet, and made to run forward, a cry on his lips. "Docto—"

But that was as far as he got before an explosion rocked through the alley with a deafening roar and a wave of air-born dust. Giles was knocked violently off his feet in an instant. He slammed into the brick wall behind him and slid to the ground, stars exploding behind his closed eyes.

A blindingly white flash of light burned into his still-closed eyes, momentarily turning the world blood red. The silence that followed was heavy and filled with dread, and broken only by the ringing in his ears. After a tense moment, Giles dared to open his eyes.

His gaze was met with an indistinguishable blurred mass of color, and he was unsurprised to find that his glassed had fallen off during the explosion. A lighter blur moved clumsily toward him from across the alley and lowered itself to his eye level where it suddenly jumped into focus.

It took a moment for his hazy mind to figure out what he was seeing. Xander was leaning over him. His mouth was moving, and his eyes were wide, but Giles couldn't hear what he was saying over the ringing in his ears.

He suddenly became aware of a sharp ache in the back of his head, and felt something trickle itchingly down his scalp. And as the familiar fogginess closed in on his vision, he knew that he was about to pass out. He forced his leaden arms to move, and clutched desperately at Xander's shoulders.

"Xander!" He gasped, squinting in an effort to focus his vision. "Listen to me! You must find her! If the Doctor is here, then something is terribly, _terribly_ wrong!" It was getting harder and harder to focus. The world was spinning slowly, his thoughts spiraling, flashing and darting like minnows, trying to escape him. Xander's face became two, twin masks of fear and concern starring at him. "Don't—don't worry about Tara," he blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his vision. But in vain. The darkness was closing in. "She'll be safe with—with him, just…find…my daughter…"

That was all he managed before he was forced to succumb to the shadows that danced at the edges of his vision.

* * *

Xander was barely able to hear the last of Giles' words. But the ringing in his ears had faded somewhat, and he caught the last few words. In spite of himself and the situation—which was making him _very_ glad he'd thought to bring the first aid kit along—he smiled. It was rare for Giles to show affection, and even more so for him to say it aloud. Though Xander knew that Giles having hit his head was probably more than half the cause.

After checking the Watcher's pulse to make sure that he was _only _unconscious, he looked around for the first aid kit and saw it lying by Spike's feet. He made a stupidly pointless gesture for Giles to stay where he was and quickly ran over to get it.

He winced when he saw the burn on Spike's throat, though he was sure that it wasn't as bad as it had been when they had first gotten there. But he wasn't sure how fast vampires could heal, and hesitated. He really, _really_ didn't like Spike…but…he had helped them. A lot. But Giles was more important. But still, he couldn't just _leave_ him lying there, like that, could he?

After a moment's debate, he snagged the forgotten ice-pack off of the ground, brushed some of the gravel that had stuck to if off, and set it against Spike's neck. It fell off after a moment, hitting the ground with a dull crunch. Shifting from foot to foot anxiously, he tried again, only to have it fall, again.

After the fifth attempt, he ripped a piece of gauze off of the roll in the kit, pressed the ice-pack into it, and tied the gauze around Spike's neck, careful to make it tight enough that it would hold the ice against the burn. But hopefully not too tight, he thought, suddenly worried that the vampire would somehow suffocate, but, then again, didn't vampires not have to breathe? Hopefully he would be alright…

Having spent as much time helping Spike as he could bear when Giles—someone who was _a lot_ higher on his Not-An-Enemy-List than said vampire—was also hurt, he leapt to his feet, and raced back towards the older man, first aid kit gripped firmly in hand.

He did his best at bandaging Giles' head, having gotten fairly good at bandaging wounds over the past few years. Injuries were part of the line of work, he mused to himself, and though it was rare that anyone other than the Slayer was seriously injured—she always protected them, putting their well-being before her own, taking hits for them that they wouldn't have been able to survive, shrugging them off, almost convincing everyone that she didn't feel pain, though he knew she did—it would have to be her Watcher who came in second place. He fought just as hard as his Slayer to protect them all, Willow and Xander especially. Xander had lost count the number of times Giles had been knocked unconscious.

He was just glad that, so far, the older man hadn't been any worse off than a headache and a few bumps.

He wasn't sure what they would do if anything were to happen to Giles. He was like a father, to all of them. Joyce had been divorced since before she and her daughters moved to Sunnydale, so the two youngest Summers had been lacking a father figure for a long while, Anya had no family to call her own, having been born almost a thousand years earlier, Tara's family had treated her like some kind of monster, eventually going so far as to _disown_ her, and Xander's own home life was more of a wreck than he liked to admit.

They were a family. A strange, slightly broken, duct-taped-back-together family, but still, a family. Maybe not of blood, but of love, and caring, and an unwavering dedication to one another. They would never give up on each other. They would leave no man behind. No matter how bad things got. No matter who, or what, they were.

"You'd better be okay," he warned softly, picking up Giles' glasses and gently slipping them onto the man he liked to think of as a father's face, "'Cause I don't know what we'd do without you."

* * *

**Ha! Made my twin go 'awww!' **

**(Which is what I was aiming for, so, yay me!)**

**:D**


	12. A New Name For an Old Face

**Huh. I was looking through the traffic stats, and it seems that I'm losing people as the story goes on. Which is...disturbing, to say the least :(**

**Also, the chapters are starting to catch up. I'm going to have to actually write a new chapter soon. My school is distracting me from writing. So, reviews would be great encouragement. If not, you're all just going to have to wait a while if I can't keep up with the chapter-posting rates. Either that, or I slow them down. Which would you prefer?**

**Anyways, on with the show!**

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he began to regain awareness, was that time had passed. He could feel sunlight on his skin, pleasantly warm, and, for some reason, quietly alarming, though he couldn't figure out why. The second thing that he noticed was that he was outside. On the ground. He could feel cold brick pressed against his back, hard and uncomfortable, and he wondered how he had managed to fall asleep.

Then he realized that it was definitely not normal, or safe, to be sleeping outside. Why was he outside? Worry began to set in. Explanations, none of them pleasant, flashed through his mind. Robbed. Drugged. Maybe he'd been drunk? What had happened…?

That was when he realized that he wasn't okay. His entire body ached horribly, and his head hurt like hell. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't see, either. A soft breeze blew past, chilling him slightly, and making him aware of the fact that the front his shirt was wet. There was also something hanging off of his neck.

With slow, unsteady movements, he brought one of his hands up to his neck, and felt what seemed to be a bandage of some sort. He frowned and let his fingers gently dance across his throat, feeling for a wound of some sort, and trying not to let panic set in. But he didn't find anything. He let out a sigh of relief, reached up with his other hand, found the knot in the bandage, and untied it with shaking fingers.

He pulled it off and let it slip through his fingers to the ground. "Why can't I see?" He asked himself, his mind quickly coming up with its own answers. His head hurt, maybe he'd hit it? Did he have a concussion?

He frowned as soon as the word registered. Because that was when he realized that he didn't know his name, or where he was, or _who_ he was. "Crap." He muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes. He couldn't remember anything, and he couldn't see. Maybe he was blind? But he was sure that he would have remembered something as important as that.

He scoffed, lowering his hands and pulling his knees to his chest. He didn't even remember his name. His name seemed a bit more important than whether or not he could see. Or, atleast, at the moment it was. If he knew his name, he could go to the police, or a hospital, and they could find someone who knew him.

He clenched his eyes shut—not that it did any good—and tried to remember. "Name, name…" he muttered, "What's my name…" And then, suddenly, a memory clicked into place.

_"John, I—I'm sorry, I know you don't…"_

Words, spoken, to him. Filled with sorrow and pain. He tried to focus on the blurry image of the face that had spoken, but in an instant, it escaped back into the oblivion it had come from, leaving him with nothing but a sense of deep grief. He bit his lip, wondering if the person who had spoken was still alive. What if it had been a family member? A friend?

A sudden pang of sorrow overcame him, and tears gathered at the corners of his still-unseeing eyes. Because he didn't know who it was that had spoken, but he was sure that they were dead. And if he never got his memory back, he would never get to meet them, or know them.

He was lost, alone, with no memory, and he couldn't see.

But atleast he knew one thing.

His name was John.

* * *

**...Yeah. Any speculations, epiphanies, guesses, predictions, random things this reminded you of, TALKING IN ALL CAPS, saying how much you love of the characters, telling me how much you hate one of the characters, suggestions to help me write better, suggestions to other fics you think I should read, heck, even self-advertising for your own stories, all of these would be gladly accepted. Just as long as I know you care enough about this story to tell me you're there :D **

**Seriously, even if you just want to say hi, it will make my day. **

**And me being happy=me writing faster=you not having to wait for updates when I run out of already-finished chapters=me not stressing over writing faster! whoopie! Win-win situation! :D**

**So, for your sake and mine, please review ^^**


	13. Out of the Frying Pan

**And again. Cycle. Yay.**

* * *

She wasted no time. There was no telling when or how quickly the light would disappear again. And she would _not_ be left to freeze. Not again.

So she reached out with her mind, and caught the light in an invisible fist, gripping it so tightly that it flared and twisted in the air, frantically trying to escape.

But she hung on with a grim determination. Ice no longer fogged her breath, or threatened to suffocate her. The wind shrank away from her, its chilling teeth hidden, unable to do anything but snarl and attempt to intimidate her from a distance. She almost laughed.

But the feeling was quickly shattered when the light disappeared; _again_, staggering her as the biting cold viciously tore the air from her lungs, choking her, as the terrible ice once more began to climb her skin.

She screamed. But fear was quickly turning into anger.

Why was she trapped her? She had done nothing wrong! Who was she to deserve this torture? Who was doing this to her? Who—

Her enraged thoughts were abruptly cut off as a faint scream that didn't belong to her rang though the darkness.

She froze, her ice-filled breathing cutting off for a moment, listening to the sound, her entire body tense even as frost crept over the exposed skin of her arms and feet. The sound was drawing closer. She bared her teeth and crouched, feeling the thin layers of ice that coated her skin crack and split as she moved.

She closed her eyes—they weren't much use open in this blinding darkness, anyways—and focused on the sound that was still growing in volume. That was when she realized the direction it was coming from. Her eyes snapped open and she leapt to the side just as the source of the sound slammed into the ground a few feet from where she had been standing, its scream cutting off abruptly in favor of a sharp cry of pain.

She took several silent steps backwards, still crouched, starring warily at the girl who had so suddenly fallen into her midst. The stranger lay where she had fallen on her stomach, gasping for breath, the wind tearing at her hair and tossing it wildly about her head, as if it had a mind of its own. There was the tiniest bit more light now, just enough for her to see the color of her hair.

It was red.

She stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat, and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

She recognized that hair. She recognized the girl. She knew her. They had been friends.

And with that realization came the knowledge that the girl was the reason she was trapped there. It was the girl's fault that she had been turned into a monster. A murderer. She had been forced to kill for the girl in front of her, breaking every moral code she'd had, destroying everything she'd been told.

Breaking her faith in people and the world.

Breaking her.

And that was when her anger turned into hatred.

* * *

***Peers around to see if anyone caught my _Star Wars _refernce...***

**:D**

**Leave a review?**

**Gedet'ye, par ni?**


	14. And Into the Fire

**Thank you, Fabriane, for your review ^^**

* * *

One second, Tara had been fine, worried and afraid, but fine. She'd been talking to the Doctor, begging him to tell her what was wrong. She'd never been so afraid for him. The horror that radiated off of him, the look in his eyes that said he'd just lost everything…

And then the next moment, the universe had been torn apart. She felt it shredding to pieces, felt time itself almost collapse, felt the air around her shiver in horror, heard a soul screaming in agony as it was dragged past her, saw the ghost of familiar blue, terrified eyes filled with tears, felt it as the blood dried into powder, felt the bones collapse into dust, the hair, once golden and bright, dulling to grey as it disintegrated into the wind…

Knew the horror that Spike had witnessed…

Then the ground fell out from beneath her feet, and she tumbled into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

* * *

It seemed to Dawn that she had hardly been asleep for more than a second before her door burst open with a booming crash. She gave a small shriek of surprise and fell over the side of the bed, dragging half the sheets with her and hitting the floor with a thud.

"Dawn!" Anya called from the doorway, "Wake—" She stopped when she saw Dawn, threw her arms up, and demanded, "What are you doing on the floor? This is no time to be looking for dust bunnies!" Her hands flew to her mouth almost as soon as she'd uttered the words, her eyes widening with fear. "You didn't find any, did you?" she squeaked, her voice rising, "_Please_ tell me you didn't find any! I don't want to add worrying about them trying to bite my feet off to the list of bad things happening!"

Dawn was busy trying to untangle herself from the blanket. "No I didn't find any!" she snapped, "And I'm on the floor because _someone_ decided to find out how hard my door could hit the wall!" She finally managed to stand up, and kicked the offending blanket away, straightening her pajamas as she did so.

Too bad they weren't her Bugs Bunny ones, she thought in irritation. It would serve Anya right for waking her up. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and her irritation disappeared completely, to be replaced by hopefulness. "Did you find her?" She asked excitedly, moving around the bed so that she could peer excitedly over Anya's shoulder into the hallway.

"Uh, no, not yet." Anya said, backing up a step so that Dawn could see that the hallway was empty. "But a lot of other stuff is going on. Spike got attacked by some kind of demon, Tara's gone AWOL with some mysterious man, Giles is unconscious, as always, and I'm pretty sure something is trying to possess Willow. Oh, and what's worse, everyone is still singing!"

Dawn stared at her. "Wait, what?"

Anya frowned, "Well, I'm pretty sure that demon Xander summoned—which I'm still mad at him for—used the energy from the Hellmouth to amplify whatever power he has that makes us sing, so it's probably going to last a lot longer than we originally—"

"Not that!" Dawn exclaimed, "What about the others? You said Giles was hurt! My sister is _still_ missing! And Willow!" Suddenly, she lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing warily at the stairs that lay just a few feet away. "Something's possessing her?"

"No," Anya said, still at her normal volume, which was a bit louder than most people used while inside, "I said something is _trying_ to posses her. There's a big difference between the two. Were you even listening to me?"

Dawn ignored her. "Is she okay?" She asked, wondering whether or not it was safe to go downstairs.

Anya scoffed. "Of course she's not alright!" she said, rolling her eyes, "Something is trying to invade her mind and suck out her soul! How could she possibly be alright?"

Yes, because was _exactly_ what Dawn needed to hear. "So…what're we gonna do?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest, silently daring Anya to tell her she was too young to help.

"Well isn't it obvious?" Anya asked, and Dawn was quickly getting fed up with the ex-demon's incessant…annoyingness. "We're going to rescue Willow from the demon that's trying to posses her, and thwart whatever evil plot it is trying to enact!" She said excitedly, punching the air and grinning proudly, waiting for praise and applause.

Dawn unfolded her arms. "Okay…" she said, "And…how do we do that?"

Anya's grin fell, and she lowered her arm. "Um," She said, looking down at her feet, "Haven't figured that part out yet."

"Want to wait 'til Xander gets here?"

"Uh…Yep! I'll make hot chocolate."

"I'll start reading some of Willow and Tara's books on possession."

"Sounds like a plan. Marshmallows?"

"Yes please."

"Remind me to smack him when he gets here."

"Will do."

* * *

Willow was falling through complete darkness, wind whipping fast her, howling like some feral creature, its icy touch freezing her to her bones as she screamed her terror. She didn't know how long she fell, but it seemed to last a lifetime. When finally she hit the ground, it was almost a relief to escape from the terror that had gripped her mind like a vice.

Pain slammed into her as the breath was torn from her lungs by the impact. She lay where she had fallen, gasping for air, shivering madly. She had never been so cold in her life. It felt as if she'd been dunked in a frozen lake and thrown into the snow to dry off.

After what felt like hours, and managed to regain her breath long enough to stagger to her feet. That was when she realized that ice had been forming on her skin. With a gasp, she clawed at it, and when that didn't work, frantically cast a heating charm.

An inhuman cry from the blinding darkness surrounding her almost stopped her heart completely. The spell died in her hands. Fear thrilled though her veins. She wasn't alone.

Out of the corner of her eye, something moved in the shadows.

"W-who's there?" She called, trying to control her racing heart. In response, something flashed by in the shadows to her right. Her head whipped in that direction. "I see you!" she shouted, trying to intimidate whatever it was that was with her in the darkness.

The freezing wind whipped past, chilling her skin so that goosebumps raced up and down her arms. Ice crawled up her skin, stabbing her with icy needles of pain. She didn't dare try to cast another spell.

Something shoved her violently from behind, and she stumbled to her hands and knees with a shriek of fear. She was on her feet again in an instant, but whatever had pushed her had disappeared back into the darkness.

"I'm not afraid of you!" she cried.

An outright lie.

Something laughed in the shadows. "Oh, but aren't you?" it whispered, its voice seemingly coming from every direction at once. It laughed again, high and insane.

The wind blasted past again, and Willow discovered that, to her horror, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She was slowly being frozen solid. She tried to scream, but ice closed around her throat, choking her.

And then, when she was sure she would die of fear, came something far more chilling than the cold.

Singing.

The ice halted its progress, and the shadows drew together, leaving small pockets of faint, almost invisible, light between them. The monster danced and darted though them, disappearing and repapering around her so quickly she wasn't sure if it were running or flying.

"Fighting in a war I did not choose, trapped in a battle I cannot lose, pieces of me break themselves away, shattering all that was left of me. Chains surround me, just a puppet on stings, dancing to the bidding and applause of higher beings."

The words were haunted and they chilled her to the bone.

But Willow suddenly felt a spark of hope well up in her. If the thing—whatever it was, it sounded like a girl, but she couldn't be sure—didn't want to listen to its masters, maybe it wanted to help her, but was too afraid? Maybe it would let her go if she promised to help it? Maybe they could both escape?

The smallest of smiles appeared on her mouth, the ice still unforgiving and immobile. But she would escape. She would survive. A plan began to form in her mind even as her captor continued its lament.

"This mask cannot last forever, every face, every kill, burned into my eyes, breaking me as I fight to stay alive in a world that has forsaken me. I've got nothing left within my heart to lose, memories have been torn away, friendly faces only in my dreams, but as hard as I fought, my soul was given an aching mortal bruise."

For a second, Willow felt only pity for the singing…whatever it was. Forced to fight and kill in someone else's name, memory-less and controlled? She couldn't imagine such a horrible existence.

She didn't notice the way her emotions swung back and forth, like the pendulum of some ancient clock. Terror. Hope. Pity.

But then it began to circle her. She didn't know how she knew, because she couldn't look around her—trapped as she was by the ice—but she sensed it moving closer, its siren voice, for the moment, silent. Fear sparked in the back of her mind, screaming at her to run. But the rest of her mind quickly silenced it. She couldn't exactly run while she was encased in ice, now could she?

And besides, she reminded herself firmly, the…creature didn't really want to hurt her. It's song had told her that. And none of the songs the demon from before had made them sing lied in any way. They were the truth.

It was being controlled, forced to fight and hurt people against its will. Forced to _kill_ people, a voice in her head reminded her, trying to get the rest of her to agree to run. But no. Because she would help it. It wouldn't hurt her. She was powerful enough to free it from whatever captivity it was trapped in. Powerful enough to fight it. It wouldn't hurt her. It _couldn't_ hurt her.

So…why was she so afraid?

That was when she realized that the ice was melting. The thing was still coming closer. _It's melting the ice_, she realized with a start. Was that a good sign? Bad?

The ice around her throat slowly melted away, trailing freezing tears down her skin. She greedily sucked in a lungful of the air that had been denied before. Part of her realized that she hadn't been breathing for a few minutes, at least, and wondered about it, but the other part didn't care.

Because now she could speak.

It was a few feet in front of her. Time to convince this creature, monster, demon, _thing_, not to kill her. It moved toward slowly. Time to make her escape so she could get back to Sunnydale. It stepped into one of the pools of light. Time to go back so she could find her friend and figure out what was happening. She could see it now, its form no longer hidden in shadow. Time to…

Her voice died in her throat.

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***Can't control laughter***

**Review? Please, for me? :D**


	15. The Other Side of the Coin

**Ah, yes. "_John_". We meet again.**

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John sat there, for longer than he wanted. His mind was at war with itself. Part of him wanted him to get up, to move, to try to find someone who could help him, to go to the police, or a hospital, or _something._ The other part of him told him how stupid that idea was. He couldn't _see_ for crying out loud! He had no idea where he was! He was lost! He could hurt himself! He could stumble into the road, or head in the exact wrong direction, or get himself lost in an even more dangerous place!

But he couldn't just _sit_ there! No one would find him if he didn't move! He had to—

The sound of footsteps interrupted his internal debate. He froze, wary and cautious, then strained his ears. It sounded…like someone was on a sidewalk. Nearby. He was near a sidewalk. Maybe…he was in an alley?

The footsteps grew closer, and he realized that it was more than one person. Their steps were light, quick, and seemed to be…skipping? Then he heard one of the owners of the footsteps laugh. His heart rate slowed considerably. They were children.

Children, at least, wouldn't hurt him. They might be able to help him. But…what if they were afraid of him? Every kid was warned by their parents not to talk to strangers, right? He was sitting on the ground, in an alley, he couldn't see, and he was pretty sure he had blood on the back of his head. He was as strange as strangers came.

The kids were coming closer. He could almost make out what they were saying. He opened his mouth to call out, but stopped.

He wanted to get help, but, at the same time, he didn't want to scare two innocent kids and run the risk of being arrested. He wanted to get to the police, but it would be a lot harder to get the help he needed if he was behind bars.

But if he didn't speak up now, no one would find him. He'd never be able to find out if he'd always been blind, or if it was from the concussion he was sure he'd somehow gotten. He'd never get his memory back. Never meet his family, never know his last name. And he'd never get to know the name of the person only he'd remembered. They were the reason he knew his name, and if he didn't get his memory back, he'd never be able to thank them.

The footsteps were closer than ever before. They were at the mouth of the alley, surely. He had to take his chances. He steeled himself.

"H-hello?" He called out, trying to make his voice as unthreatening as possible, which wasn't hard, seeing as he was half scared out of his mind that they would run away and leave him there, all alone. The footstep froze. "Hello? Please, can you help me?" He asked, praying they would listen.

Silence fell over the alley for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. He held his breath. Please don't be afraid, please don't be afraid, he chanted in his head.

Finally, one of the children spoke up. A girl. "Are you okay, mister?" she asked, her voice wavering. He heard her whisper something to the other child, and the smaller set of footprints backed away a bit.

It took him a moment to answer. He was so relieved. "No," he said, "I can't see. I can't remember. I-I think I hit my head. Can you…please, can you call an ambulance?"

The girl hesitated, but only for a second. "I…I haven't got a phone…" she said apologetically, then quickly continued, a wary concern coloring her voice. "But—But I can go get my mom, and she can call for one. I promise, I'll be fast. Her work's only a few minutes away, will…will you be okay until I get back?" She sounded so worried. He was immensely glad that she was going to help.

"Y-yeah, I'll be alright 'til then." He said, wondering for a moment if he'd be able to stand so that he could walk with them instead. He shifted to pull his legs closer, the weight and soreness of them immediately dispelling any ideas of walking. He lifted his head in the direction he hoped the girl was in. "Thank you." He said earnestly, "So much." He smiled, trying to show his gratitude.

Though he couldn't see her, he thought the girl might have smiled back. "No problem," she said, "I'll be right back." Then, in a lower voice, "Come on, Tray, let's go."

A little boy's voice replied in an almost whisper, "Okay, Liz," and then their footsteps sounded again, continuing in the direction they had been heading, faster now, because they were running.

John sank back against the brick, some of the tension that had filled him since he first gained awareness finally draining away. Everything was going to be okay. The ambulance would come, they'd bring him to the hospital, figure out who he was, and maybe they'd be able to tell him if he'd always been unable to see.

He wanted to know, because…if he'd always been blind…then maybe some of the guilt that had plagued him since he remembered his name would disappear as well.

Ten minutes later, the ambulance arrived.

Five minutes after that, they started towards the hospital, the paramedics looking him over in the back of the vehicle, checking his pulse and asking him questions. Who was the president? What year was it? Could he tell them his name?

It seemed like things were starting to look up for him.

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**Yay for him. Any reviews? **


	16. New Me

**I'm having too much fun with this ^^**

**Also, I'm not sure if anyone else has off school today, so, incase you do, I'm going to update really early today ^^**

**Reviews would be a nice thank you :D**

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The girl was speechless, staring at her with wide eyes as if _she_ were the monster.

She fought to hide the snarl that wanted to twist her features. She would have to contain her anger if she wanted to escape this horrible, icy prison, she reminded herself. Breathe in, breathe out. The ice isn't stopping you anymore. Breathe in. Don't think about what she did. Breathe out. Don't think about the people you killed. Breath in. Don't think about it. Breathe out. Don't let it affect you.

But then the girl spoke, shattering the paltry excuse of control she'd been able to dredge up.

"You're not her!" the girl shouted, her voice painfully loud in the almost-silence, disrupted only by the now faint cry of the wind.

It took all of her self-control not to flinch at the girl's voice. Every fiber of her screamed against it. Because it was the voice that had dragged her into the ravenous clutches of the suffocating earth. It was the voice that had forced her to fight. It was the voice that had forced her to kill. The voice that had killed her.

Then the words caught up to her. Her mouth twitched in an effort to contain herself, but her control crumbled, and she burst into loud, helpless laughter.

She laughed so much that her stomach began to hurt, but she couldn't stop.

Because, in a twisted sort of way, it was just. So. _Hilarious_.

Because it was true. Because it wasn't.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she managed to stop. She was out of breath, and when she did look up—she'd doubled over to clutch her stomach, it was just so funny—the look on the girl's face almost sent her into a fit of hysterics again. She just looked so, so…shocked. Afraid. Confused. Angry.

They stared at each other for a few minutes, both completely silent, while she tried to regain her voice, her mouth twitching into a smile every few seconds, forcing herself to stare into the eyes of the monster that had destroyed her, and expected gratitude in return.

She snickered, breaking the silence, having finally caught her voice. "You—you expected me to _thank_ you!" she cried, quickly covering her mouth with her hands to keep from bursting into laughter again. "You _killed_ me, and you acted like it was something you should have been rewarded for!"

Suddenly, the humor left her. Her eyes flashed, and her teeth bared themselves in a snarl. It took all of her willpower not to stalk forward and attack the girl in front of her. But she didn't. Because the Doctor wouldn't have wanted her to. Because _John_ wouldn't have wanted her to. Her voice lowered into a venomous hiss, "_Do you have any idea what you put me through_?"

But the girl was still in shock. "Y-you're not her!" she said, again, as if repeating it would make it true, her fear-filled voice as grating and unnerving as nails on a chalk-board, "You're some demon _thing_! I know how this works! You're trying to mess with my head! Well, it's not going to work! You didn't even get it right! Who are you trying to look like, huh? _Adam_? You—"

"Oh, so I'm a _demon_, am I?" she asked, her teeth still bared in a chilling smile, interrupting whatever nonsense the girl had been about to spout next, "So. I guess that must mean that I'm trying to possess you, right? I mean, this darkness could only exist in such a twisted mind as your own, _right_?"

The girl froze, and her eyes widened. She'd obviously not considered that possibility.

This would be fun.

She stalked in a slow circle around her, glad that, for the moment, the girl was still entrapped within the ice. She couldn't turn to look at her. She couldn't see her. Just hear her. She smiled to herself.

And then the music began to play softly in the back of her head, again, reaching for her from the depths of her soul, like a lost child.

So, switching to her native language, she sang, and let the words chill the red haired _witch_ to the core.

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**Heh, heh heh heh...**

**Leave a review? **


	17. Finding More Clues

**Back with the Scoobies again ^^**

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When Xander opened the door to the Summers' home—a semi-conscious Giles leaning on his shoulder—and saw his fiancé running towards him, he expected a kiss, or a hug, or some loud exclamation that he was alive.

He _definitely_ had not been expecting the sharp smack across the face that she gave him, instead. He starred at her, slack jawed. "Wha—what was that for?" He demanded, holding his free hand to his stinging cheek.

Giles cleared his throat meaningfully, and Xander quickly helped him to the sofa so he could sit. Anya followed them into the living room, her hands on her hips. "That," she said, "Was for summoning that demon and creating this whole mess in the first place!" Then she spun on her heel and marched back into the kitchen. He starred after her.

"Yes, really." A dizzy Giles contributed, prompting Xander to turn to him. He was leaning back on the sofa, a hand on his head and his eyes closed. "You'd think that after all your past _disastrous_ escapades with magic, you'd have learned your lesson."

Xander looked around, and saw that an unconscious Willow lay on the floor, her head—which was surrounded bu a slowly spinning jagged black halo—pillowed on a folded up jacket that he recognized as belonging to Dawn, and her body surrounded by a circle of black sand and gently flickering candles. His brow furrowed in concern and confusion.

"Yeah, well, that's me." Xander said in response to Giles' words, hiding his apology behind sarcasm as he changed the subject. "Xander, he who never learns from his mistakes. It's the part of my charm that attracts the underworld ladies. Now, can we please focus on the fact that one of us is currently being possessed by some demon of unknown origin that will _probably_ try to kill us all and end the world if it succeeds? Oh, and not to mention that we're minus the Slayer, who would be really helpful in this situation, and is out there, alone, probably in more emotional turmoil than all of us combined." He turned to look at Giles, hoping that the older man would have some sort of input—he was usually the one who told them what was going on—only to see that he had passed out again.

He sighed and turned back to Anya, who had just reentered the room, a steaming mug clutched in her hands. Xander pointed to the circle surrounding his friend. "What's with the candles and creepy sand?" he asked.

Anya took a sip from the mug then sputtered, waving a hand at her mouth. "Ow!" she exclaimed, waving a hand at her mouth. Then she realized he was talking to her, and looked over at Willow. "Oh, yeah." She said, nodding at the sand, "That's to contain the demon if it does manage to posses her, and the candles are to help raise the power of her spirit. At least, that's what the book said. I never really had to deal with possession as a vengeance demon. It was mostly just killing and turning people into giant—"

"Anya, who is that? Did they find her?" Dawn's voice from upstairs cut whatever Anya had been about to say.

"Not yet, sorry. It's just me and Giles!" Xander called quickly, wanting to change the subject, and internally glad that Dawn had interrupted. It always made him nervous whenever Anya spoke too enthusiastically about her vengeance demon days.

And it wasn't just the thought of the woman he loved doing such horrible things—though that did put a chill in his heart at times—he was afraid that she would admit to doing something that people wouldn't forgive her for. Specifically, something the Slayer wouldn't be able to forgive.

Xander knew that the only reason the eldest Summers girl allowed Anya to live—and interact with them at all—was because she was human. And they didn't kill humans.

But every rule had an exception. Every moral a breaking point. Every soul an unforgiving anger.

By her own admission, Anya had killed hundreds—if not thousands—of innocent people.

It was Xander's job to make sure that only he knew the full extent of her crimes. It was his job to forgive her, and to keep those who wouldn't, or _couldn't_, in the shadows. It was his job to protect her, even from his friends.

Especially from his friends.

"Let's stay on the topic at hand, shall we?" He suggested, gesturing to the room at large.

Anya rolled her eyes but nodded. "Fine. So…what kind of demon do you think it is that's trying to posses Willow-the-wisp over here?" She asked, nodding in the direction of the binding circle. "That sand can't be good for the carpet. Good thing I don't live here, 'cause I'd hate to be the one that has to vacuum that up."

"Ahn!" He exclaimed in exasperation as he allowed himself to fall onto the sofa beside the still unconscious Giles, "Topic! Stay! On! Topic! What kind of demon do _you_ think it is?"

"Well that's just the problem!" Anya said, making a face at the mug—which held hot chocolate, as far as he could tell—in her hands, "I don't know! You'd think that after being alive for a thousand or so years I'd know all of them! But I don't! And it's irritating me…" She said, her voice turning into a grumble at the end.

Dawn came in from the kitchen at that moment, an open book balanced in one hand, and a steaming mug held in the other. She started reading from the book, holding the mug out to the room. "It says in here that…" She tried to shift the book to another page, furrowed her brow, and looked up. "Xander, take your hot chocolate. I'm _trying_ to read." She said, rolling her eyes a bit.

"Oh!" he said, quickly reaching for it. "Thanks, Dawnie."

"Yep," she said, shifting the book so she held it in both hands, "Okay, as I was saying, this book says that, umm, you have to…you have to…" She then proceeded to slowly sound out something that sounded like a screeching owl. She scowled and shut the book with a snap. "Actually, I have no idea what that book is talking about. I was hoping it would start to make more sense the farther I read, but, nope. Way too many big magic-y words that I'm pretty sure aren't even English. So, who's got ideas?"

They all looked around at each other, then at Giles, then back. "Okay," Xander said, "How about we swap info?" He looked at Anya. "What were you guys doing before this happened?" He waved his arms to indicate the trashed room and Willow's unconscious form, then took a sip of the hot chocolate. "I mean," he said, swallowing the scalding liquid before it could burn his tongue, "There's usually a trigger with this sort of thing. You guys came here to do a locator spell, did you have to paint any symbols or anything? Anything that could have accidentally summoned it?"

He certainly knew how easy it was to do something accidental with magic. Like, say, making all the women in the town fall (murderously) in love with him.

"No," Anya said, "It was a simple locating spell. All we had to do was hold hands, chant a bit and poof! We'd find little miss fallen-from-heaven!" She scowled. "We did everything right! The spell worked! It…just didn't find her." she said, looking at Xander nervously. "We used a map of Sunnydale, and, well, she…didn't show up."

Dawn clenched her hands. "You mean, you think she ran away again." She said softly, glaring at the floor.

Anya hesitated, looking with slight concern at the younger girl, before nodding, her eyes wide and apologetic. "W-we got out more maps," Anya said, looking from Xander to Dawn and back, trying to reassure them, something she rarely did. "You know, ones that show the area around the town? Well, we started casting the spell, and well…the next thing I know, there this giant explosion of light!"

"But I thought you said there was nothing wrong with the spell?" Xander asked, confused. He took another sip from his hot chocolate—which had cooled, thankfully—and moved to sit on the sofa next to the _still_ unconscious Giles. Or maybe he was just sleeping, now? He'd woken earlier, which was a good sign…How hard had he hit his head? That explosion, or whatever it was, had been pretty powerful.

He hoped that Tara really was safe with— "Wait!" He suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet, almost forgetting he had the mug still in his hands, but he set it down on the small coffee table before it could spill. "The same thing happened with the spell Tara cast!" he cried.

"It made an explosion?" Dawn asked in confusion, "Is that how Giles got hurt? What about Tara? Is she okay?"

"No," Xander said shaking his head, "I mean, yes. Uh, yes that's how Giles got hurt, but I don't think the spell caused it. Tara, well, I don't know where she is, but she's with that guy I told Anya about on the phone, and Giles says that she'll be safe with him. So, I'm going to have to trust Giles on this one, seeing as we have no choice in the matter. Okay, no more questions 'til I'm done talking, because it's the _same_!" he said excitedly, looking around at them to see if they'd connected the dots yet.

"What's the same?" Dawn asked, frowning. Then her eyes widened as a sudden realization struck her. "Wait, you said Tara did a spell too. A locating spell! But, you didn't find her. Was it the same kind Willow and Anya did?" She looked at Xander, then switched her gaze to Anya, who was the most knowledgeable about magic of the three of them.

"No," she said in reply to Dawn's question, "It couldn't have been. The spell Willow and I did had to be done in one spot, without moving around and stuff. And, seeing as it's really cold out, I doubt you guys would have wanted to sit on the ground." She directed the last sentence at Xander, how nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed, "It was that one she'd done before, remember? The night we uh…" he tailed off, a sudden lump forming in his throat. "Uh, you remember, Anya," He said, "Those biker demons? A-and Wil and I got lost in the woods?"

"Oh, yeah." Anya said, "The yoga thing. Did it look like a Voraithé?"

"The—wait, what? What in the _world_ is a Voraithé?" He asked, fully aware of the way the conversation could be sidetracked if he let Anya distract him, but confused, nonetheless.

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. Spirit lights!" Anya said, as if it were obvious. She looked around at their blank faces, then sighed in exasperation when she realized they didn't know what she was talking about. She pinched two fingers together until there was only a tiny gap left in between. "You know? The parts of the soul that gets left behind to act as a guide to the living?" Still no recognition. She slapped a palm to her forehead in frustration. "Come on! Tiny little things! They're glow-y! Maybe blue or green—"

"You mean a firefly!" Xander exclaimed, interrupting her.

She scowled. "What? No, of course not! Why would a fly be on fire? That's just ridi—"

"No, no. Not literally! You know, a lightening bug! A sparkfly! You know, those little bug that light up at night? If that's what you're asking, then yes. It _did_ look like a boraythai or whatever they're called. So, yes. That's the spell Tara used earlier."

"It's Voraithé." Anya grumbled annoyed, then frowned. "You know…" She said, "I just realized something…"

"What?" Dawn asked, trying to keep the conversation on a productive course. It _was_, after all, her sister they were trying to find. And, well, they were also trying to help Willow. But, if Dawn were being honest with herself, she knew she was more worried about her sister. After all, they were doing all they could for Willow. But her sister was out there, where it was still dangerous, upset and completely alone.

And possibly running away.

Anya frown deepened itself, and she tilted her head to the side slightly. "I just realized that both of the spells we've casted were designed to locate the soul. The Voraithé are used as locators, because since they used to be part of a soul, they can sense other souls. And the spell Willow and I did required a hair from the person we were trying to find. Willow said that it was because the hair was from the head, where the soul is." She looked up at them, biting her lip. "And neither of the spells worked."

Xander could only stare in silence as the significance of her words sank in.

Because they'd brought their friend back. And he'd been a part of it. Only, she'd been brought back wrong. There was no other explanation.

Because he wasn't even going to consider the alternative.

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**Oh dear. Seems they're starting to catch up o.O**

**...As are the chapters o.O this is the last pre-written chapter I've got. Which means that I'm going to have to start writing new ones. Encouragement in the form of reviews is very very welcome and will speed up updates ^^**

**You know what I forgot? Being grounded is what having a twin is for ^^ **

**And if I DO get grounded from writing, I'll just write on paper, have my twin sister type it on her laptop, and post it for me! haha :D**


	18. A New Place

**Lol, you know, maybe listening to all the songs from Once More With Feeling on my MP3 player as I wrote this _wasn't_ such a good idea. Now I can't stop singing along. And I _suck_ at singing. o.O**

**And _GAHHHH_, this all looks so much longer on Word...**

***rubs back of head sheepishly* Uhh...yeah. Sorry about the shortness. But I rather think I like this chapter :]**

**( ^ Anyone else think I sounded like Ten just then? Hehe!)**

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John's knees slammed painfully into the ground.

His eyes snapped open—a habit he was sure he wouldn't have if he'd always been blind, but for all he knew, it was instinctive whether you could see or not—and...he blinked.

Because he could see.

He blinked again. And again, just to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

He wasn't. He could see. Granted, all he could see was a mass of blurred colors that were impossible to identify as anything, but still! He wasn't blind!

He sat back on his heels and clapped his hands over his mouth, trying to resist the urge to shout in joy.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! He thought, releasing his mouth so he could punch the air. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" he shouted, unable to contain his sudden giddiness. He didn't even know who he was thanking.

"You are most welcome." A woman's voice to his right said, startling him. His head snapped around and he starred up in the direction her voice had come from, trying to make out where she was amidst the blurred colors that surrounded him.

They were mostly soft blues and whites, he noticed, suddenly remembering that he had no idea how he'd gotten there. One moment, he'd been in the ambulance...the next...here.

"Am-am I at the hospital?" He asked, guessing from the soothing color scheme—or at least what he could see of it—and squinting in the direction he'd hoped the woman was in.

Suddenly realizing that he was still on the ground, he quickly jumped to his feet, still energized from realizing that he wasn't blind—at least not completely—and then quickly regretted it when his stomach lurched and the room seemed to spin around him.

He almost stumbled, but, and to his great surprise, _two_ pairs of arms caught him before he could fall. When had someone else entered the room?

"Oh! Are you alright, sir?" It was the woman's voice again.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the person holding him, squinting to make out her blurred form. "Yeah," he said, bringing a hand to his head as both arms gently released him, "Thanks for that. I'm just a bit dizzy." He closed his eyes again as a dull ache started up in his head. "And my head hurts."

"Oh," the woman said, suddenly sounding guilty, "My sincerest apologies, but it _was_ an emergency. We had to act quickly if we were to get to you before you entered the hospital."

His eyes snapped open in confusion. "Wait, I'm not in the hospital?" he asked, blinking a few more times as his vision miraculously began to clear further. He would have danced with joy had not a sudden fearful confusion overcome him. Why wasn't he in the hospital? He blinked a few more times, and reached a hand up to rub his eyes, taking what he hoped was a discreet step back as he did so.

When he opened his eyes again, he could see clearly for the fire time since he had first woken up.

Why was she wearing a mask?

He blinked a couple times, starring in confusion as his mind tried to process what he was seeing.

"What...are you?" He finally whispered, knowing somehow, deep in his gut, that what he was seeing was real. It wasn't a mask.

The woman held up her hands, spreading her fingers—she had _twelve_ of them—in a calming gesture. "I mean you no harm." she said, her voice soft, "This is a medical facility. You were brought here so that we could heal you."

"But I was going to a _hospital_!" he protested, his voice rising as he backed away further, not wanting to accept what his eyes were telling him. Now that he could see, he didn't want to.

"Yes!" the woman continued, staying where she was, "The humans want to help, but sometimes they harm instead. They don't yet know how to help people that are not their species. Sometimes, they make mistakes, and people, good people, are hurt because of it. That is why we brought you here. I promise, you will be safely transported back to Earth just as soon as the healing process is complete."

"I—But!" She had given him so much information. His mind couldn't latch onto a single thread. Questions raced through his head. "But—I'm-I'm not an alien!" he finally exclaimed, "Why did you take me?"

This time she frowned. "Our scans picked you up as non-human." she said, "Close, but not exactly. There was enough difference for us to be concerned about your safety. Had they used anesthetics on you, you would have never woken. Please, there is no reason to keep what you are a secret while you are here. We do this only to help you. None among us will judge you for your species, please, believe me."

He starred at her. "But...I'm...not...I'm not human? You're telling me I'm not human?!"

She hesitated. "You...were not aware?"

He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Of course I bloody well wasn't aware!" He shouted, his frustration and confusion momentarily turning into anger, but then immediately felt guilty when she flinched slightly, her hands twitching toward her large ears.

He noticed for the first time that he had a English accent. Another thing that denied what he was being told. "I...sorry..." he whispered, "I just—I can't remember anything. All I know is my name...You're saying..." He hesitated, "...I'm really not human?"

She shook her head, "You are not." she said softly, taking a small step toward him. When he didn't try to back away again—not like he could, having backed himself against what might have been a hospital bed—she continued until she stood in front of him.

She put her hands—he was still getting used to the fact that she had an extra thumb on each hand—and forced him to look up at her. He did. She smiled softly. "That is not such a bad thing, you know." she said softly, smiling at him. "Being human or not has no effect on who you are, regardless if you can remember who you used to be or not."

And he looked at her. Really looked at her, for the first time, her calming words clearing the panic and confusion from his mind. He saw the pale blue of her skin, and the swirling red markings that started at the bottom of her deep-set green eyes and swirled around the back of her head to curl as upside down triangles at her forehead. Saw the way her nose was sunken into her skin, almost like that of a skull, though it seemed perfectly natural and right. Saw the large ears on the side of her head, and how they twitched to catch sound. Saw the white fin-like crest that started at her nose and extended beyond her forehead, small spikes creating a ridge on it that extended down the back of her head and under the wide neck of the pale yellow robes she wore.

He saw her. An alien. Someone who wasn't human. And...that was okay.

"...I..." He hesitated. "My name's John." He said, softly.

She smiled. "And I am Uliiwa of the Hart family. I am pleased to welcome you to my home, John." She gently released his shoulders and moved toward the wall. She placed the palm of her hand against it, and it glowed softly, changing for a moment, from white to orange. Then the wall slowly began to pull back from her hand, creating softly rippling a window.

He approached it cautiously, and gasped when he looked out.

They were in orbit around a huge, beautiful planet of large orange oceans and blue land masses, all surrounded by a green atmosphere that was breathtaking.

"Welcome," Uliiwa said, "To Adebaen."

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**It's pronounced Ah-deh-bane, by the way :)**

**Ah-deh-bane. Adebaen. I like it ^^**

**Took a week exactly to write this o.O**

**Reviews are very welcome ^^**

**Also, I will be posting a picture I drew of what Uliiwa's species looks like on Deviantart. Just search my name. **


	19. Recrimination

**I think the update sheduel is going to be around a week. Depends on who I'm writing. I can write some characters really fast, and others, it takes a bit longer. It got its title because I used a random word generator to get ideas for the song. It gave me recrimination and knell. Anyways, enjoy :D**

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The girl's hands started to glow before she could utter the first word to the song in her heart, and before she could react, they burst into flame.

Searing pain immediately tore through her body, and she stumbled with a pained gasp, clutching at her chest with one hand. Her heart pounded madly beneath her hand, fighting desperately to defend the energy that was being taken from her.

A thin, burning stream of red energy stole out from beneath her fingers and surged away from her in a barely visible tether to the fire in the girl's hands, fueling the spell, and making the flames writhe and twist higher, blindingly bright in the darkness.

"No!" she cried, falling to her knees as a sudden, death-like exhaustion overcame her. The girl didn't even notice. She was too busy freeing herself from the freezing cold that had suddenly gripped her fellow prisoner is a clawed hand.

She fell to the ground, her arms no longer strong enough to support her. Her entire body felt as heavy as stone. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't even feel the cold against her skin. She was fading.

But instead of darkness, the edges of her vision flickered with fire. A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes, and she watched, in terror, as it began to slowly dissolve into dust.

"No!" She whispered, her voice lost in the howl of the wind. She reached a trembling hand toward the girl. The one who had put her here. The one who was doing this to her. The one who was killing her. _Destroying_ her.

"No!" She cried, her mind coiling in on itself, preparing to strike, "_Stop!_"

She lashed out with all of her remaining strength, hoping to knock the girl off balance. A wave of white energy burst out in a circle around her, momentarily drowning out the howl of the wind in a roar of sound. The girl's eyes widened in fear and she tried to dodge out of the way, but the wall of psychic energy hit her with such force that she was thrown backwards and off of her feet.

The fire spell cut off and the red tether snapped in half and shot back toward her, glowing brightly with all the energy it had been siphoning.

The energy flowed through her veins, lifting the weight that had been crushing her, and dispelling the exhaustion as if it had never been. She actually felt _better_ than she had before, and she knew that some of the girl's energy had been transferred to her.

She leapt to her feet and had crossed the distance between them, and before the girl even had a chance to react, she had gripped her by the throat and was holding her above the ground, her glare murderous.

The girl kicked and gasped, her eyes wide with terror. After a moment, she released her. The girl fell to her knees, clutching her throat.

She glared down at the shivering form beneath her. "This is all your fault, you know. We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you and your Xeyvori-damned spells."

The girl just starred up at her. "I-I never did anything to you!" she cried, her voice hoarse, but her eyes full of rage, "You're the demon here! You're trying to get to my friends through me! Well, guess what _Jadis_? I'm not going to let you!"

Her mouth twisted into a snarl. She didn't know who or what 'Jadis' was, but it was obviously an insult. Her lips still pulled back to reveal her teeth, she began to sing in a low voice the words to the song that had been building in the back of her head since the girl had cast the fire spell that had almost killed her.

"I used to be brave, standing fast in my ways, but now darkness clouds my vision, and I can't escape from this icy prison..."

To her immense surprise, the girl joined in, their voices overlapping. "These dark gates can't hold me forever, the key I'll find, and shed light upon these lies! Soon will come the day of your demise, and then in that light shall the truth be revealed!"

Her finger twitched at the word 'key', and an another wave of unbidden anger rose to the surface. "Should I run, should I flee?" She sang, her voice rising as rage coursed through her veins, turning her vision red, "And leave my battles unfought? Should I stay, should I fight, and let my hands be stained once more?"

The girl rose to her feet. And she let her. Something inside her was screaming for a fight.

"If it takes my last breath, I'll not let you pass. You can rot here in hell!" She cried, throwing her arms out, "Listen! Can you hear it? Your death knell is calling!"

They began to circle each other.

"The beast inside me lifts its head," She sang, her teeth bared in a feral grin, as she felt something dark rise up in the back of her mind, "A hungry growl upon its lips, Go, it whispers, it's voice on the wind, release me, and I will fight in your stead!" The next words came out as a dark, ancient hiss that didn't belong to her. "Hide in the shadows of this darkness, I'll protect you from the fight, cover your eyes as I slay your foes, you need not face the dead!"

The temptation to give in—to kill the girl in front of her for her crimes—was almost overwhelming. But she wouldn't. She was already a killer. She would _not_ have more blood on her hands. She hadn't had a choice before. But now she did.

But the dark presence in her mind gripped her soul, forcing her to advance on the girl, who backed away, her earlier confidence fled. "I'll stop you," the girl whispered, no longer singing, "I won't let you leave this place, Jadis! You'll be trapped forever in your own winter!"

Again, that name. Most definitely an insult. And the darkness inside her would not allow itself be insulted. In a flash, she had lunged forward, her body no longer under her control. Her arm reached out, and she saw the ghost of another arm reaching with it. A flash of white paint on dark skin, fingers curved into vicious claws.

But the girl jerked back just in time to escape. She had never felt more relieved.

She forced herself to back away, "My fingers itch, but my heart cries out!" she sang, starring at her arms, sure for a moment that she'd seen steel cuffs encircling them, had, for a moment, felt heavy links of metal weighing her down, chaining her to the ground, "Someone, someone, save me from myself! So very badly do I want to flee, but the death and darkness have corrupted me..."

But with a harsh cry, the darkness inside her seized control, forcing her body into a crouch as she stalked forward, everything about her screaming predator. The girl's eyes widened, and she tried to back away, but was stopped by a hand around her throat.

A hand that was wrapped in tattered white cloth, chain links clinking softly as they dangled from her wrist, even as a thin layer of frost crept up them.

"S-Sineya!" The girl gasped, starring with wide eyes as she tried to free herself. "Sineya! Stop! I-I didn't do anything! Why are you doing this?"

But she was unable to stop. She could only sing, even as she squeezed her eyes shut so that she wouldn't have to see the horror she was about to commit.

The girl's eyes rolled into the back of her head.

She screamed inside her head, trying to force her fingers to release the girl's neck. But in vain. "Chains of hatred have ensnared my soul, forcing my feet to the puppets march, I cannot run, I cannot flee, Doctor, please,_ help me_..."

* * *

**Errr...I'll just be...hiding under that rock over there...if you need me...*dives under rock* Oh shoot! This isn't my TARDIS! *Climbs out, dives under another rock. TARDIS dematerialization noise. Rock dissapears.***

**o.O Don't kill me! I surrender!**

**Oh, yeah, and I want at least ONE review before I update the next chapter. I'm working on another one-shot, and it's distracting me from this. So. Better get me back on track by reminding me about this, huh? Wouldn't want me to forget about it and make you wait a long time, now would we? **

**(Trying to be Slytherin. Failing...I wouldn't really make you wait. It would actually be posted as soon as it was done being edited. But I would like some feedback :) )**

**Errr...also (and I might have already asked this in another AN, but I can't remember) But...did any of you guys catch that really important detail about Spike/John in chapter 12 (when he first woke up without any memory) Because no one mentioned it...and I'm REALLY REALLY hoping it wasn't so subtle as to avoid detection at all...It was something to do with something being quietly alarming. ANYONE? Because if no one notice it, I might have to go back and make it a bit more obvious...**


	20. Hospital

**Sooooooooooooooo sorry for the slow update! But, well, you know how when you're writing, you randomly get stuck on a sentence that just stubbornly **_**doesn't**_** want to be written? And then you have to figure out a way to either get past it, or stop before the story gets there entirely? Yeah. That happened. :(**

**And, in other news, my hand hurts. Introduced my kitten Alex to our new (well, not really new, seeing as we got her back...) dog, and, in trying to climb over my back, clawed up my hand and wrist. Ow. If you're going to introduce a cat and a dog, please, WEAR GLOVES.**

**That's all. You may now read :)**

* * *

Tara and the Doctor raced hand-in-hand down the startlingly white hallway, dodging past people and leaping over the small robots that seemed to be all over the place.

His hand in hers was the only thing keeping her from getting lost as they took a dizzying amount of turns at an all-out sprint.

And the worst part was that he was running with his eyes closed.

Not that she doubted his telepathic abilities, but, still. It was a bit disconcerting.

She had _really_ missed this.

Even if she really had no idea what was going on and barely able to keep herself together. The temptation to cry was almost overwhelming, and she flinched as she recalled the horrific knowledge that had been revealed to her, but managed to force it to the back of her mind.

She'd think about it later. _After_ the universe was safe from whatever had the Doctor so freaked out.

An alarm sounded overhead, and as the Doctor dragged her around yet another corner, she saw the people in the hallway they'd just entered quickly moving out of the way, pressing themselves against the walls and directing the small robots to do the same, creating a clear path.

And then they were sprinting past them, through the path they'd created, and the Doctor was calling over his shoulder, not even taking long enough to pause in his frenzied movement, "Thank you!" and then a door still ahead of them in the hallway was opened, and a few seconds later, they were bursting into the room...

And then everything abruptly slowed down.

The Doctor released her hand, and moved toward the hospital bed on the far side of the room. One of the robots she'd seen in the hallway hovered anxiously near the foot of the bed, blocking her view of its occupant.

But Tara was too distracted with staring at the man who was pacing the room to be worried about who it belonged to.

Pushing aside her worry for her friends back in Sunnydale, and her anxiety over whoever was lying in the bed—she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to know, just yet—she tried to make sense of what her eyes were telling her.

Because it just didn't make sense.

The object of her shock continued pacing, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she and the Doctor were even in the room. His head was down, his fists clenching and unclench in anxiety every time he turned to restart the small line he was following.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then the Doctor was suddenly next to her, his hand gently wrapped around her wrist, shaking his head.

"He doesn't remember." He said in a low voice, "He knows nothing about Sunnydale. He isn't the same person you know. It's...complicated.

She stared at him, then at the pacing man again, in dismay. "Timey wimey?" She guessed weakly, trying to keep from staring. A shiver stole down her back as a sudden gust of chill wind rippled through the room.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the small robot—shaped like a red sphere about the size of a basketball but with hundreds of little jointed arms sticking out the sides and a sort of periscope for an eye—move away from the bed with a soft mechanical whir that was somehow soothing, and reach out with four of its arms to close the window that had been above the bed.

The Doctor nodded, his vibrantly red hair falling in front of his eyes for a moment. Then he drew in a shaky breath, and glanced back at the bed. Tara's gaze follow his with a will of its own.

"No..." she whispered in dismay, seeing the familiar form of her friend, laying, unconscious, on the hospital bed. "N-Naani, what happened to her?" She whispered, quickly moving to her friend's bedside and shivering as another breeze brushed past her, the nickname slipping out without her even thinking about it, revealing her worry.

The Doctor moved to her side and gently squeezed her hand in reassurance. Then reached a gentle hand to brush away the lock of brown hair that had fallen onto the unconscious woman's face, his hand shaking. It wasn't he who spoke next.

"They-they're still not sure what happened." The words were soft, and filled with so much anxiety and worry that Tara was shocked. She'd never expected to hear such emotion from _that _voice. She turned around slowly, to see that the man had stopped pacing.

Another shiver rolled down her spine, and she rubbed absently at her goosebump-covered arms.

The Doctor straightened slowly, then made a short whistling sound. She looked at him in confusion, but then the small robot from before gave a soft chirp in reply and with a small buzzing noise, floated over to a small door set in the wall that she hadn't noticed before, touched a small pad with one of its little arms, and went in.

A few seconds later, the robot floated back out, a chair held in its many arms. It floated over to her, and gently set the chair down behind her so that she could sit at her friend's bedside.

"Oh," she said, surprised, "T-Thanks. I-I mean, thank you!" she said, smiling gratefully. It bobbed in the air with an energetic whirring sound, then made what was a remarkable imitation of a bow with its small arms.

As it floated away, the smile slowly fell from Tara's face as she looked down at her friend. She still didn't even know what was wrong with her. Quickly scanning her, Tara was unable to see any sign of injury. She couldn't see any bandages, at least, but that didn't mean a whole lot when you were in the future.

She lowered herself onto the chair—which looked like it was made out of metal, but was surprisingly comfortable—and gently grasped her friend's hand, feeling a gentle wave of telepathic energy wash through her as she did so. The small blue dots that ran along the girl's arms glowed softly.

When she concentrated, vibrant red lines of energy became visible, writhing through the air above her friend's unconscious form, painting the air with her pain and fear. She closed her eyes, and gripped her friend's non-responsive hand reassuringly, then cast her mind out, sending waves of calming energy through their linked hands. The red dimmed, then softly changed to a burn orange color, as some of the tension melted away. The hand in hers relaxed infinitesimally, and she sighed softly.

A hand on her shoulder shocked her out of her reverie, and she jumped, then looked up to see...the man who apparently wasn't the same man she knew. On the other side of the room, she saw the Doctor in the midst of a hushed conversation with the sphere-shaped robot, an intense look on his face as they exchanged quiet whistles and chirps, along with seemingly random strings of numbers.

"Hey," the man said softly, smiling in reassurance and his voice exactly the same as it had just a half an hour earlier. "You...must be Tara." She nodded, giving him a hesitant smile in answer. He looked at the hand she still clasped. "She...she told me all about you. One of the bravest people she'd ever met. Said you faced down a Bendelmian Skull without even flinching, one time, to protect a little boy." She nodded, biting her lip as she remembered the incident. He offered her his hand, and she touched his palm briefly with the fingertips of her free hand, as the Doctor had shown her was the customary greeting among most people in the future. "I'm John, by the way. It's nice to finally meet you."

John. It...seemed to fit him. It held a simple, unassuming strength within its single syllable, nothing at all like the mocking harshness of Spike.

She couldn't hide the slight shiver that suddenly ran up her arms. She frowned.

He looked at her in concern. "Are you okay?" He asked, then looked down at the occupied bed, where she was still holding her friend's hand, helping to dispel the negative energy that wanted to form around her still form, and his smile wavered, sadness weighing down his shoulders.

And seeing the hopelessness in his eyes, the same look that she'd seen on that face only once before, almost a year ago, when the world has almost ended, with only the sacrifice of an amazing, selfless friend stopping their descent into hell, the same girl he'd been in love with...Seeing that familiar look...the tears she'd been trying to hold back could no longer be stopped.

She gently released her hold on her friend's wrist and buried her face in her hands.

Because her girlfriend had been controlling her mind for who knows how long. Because one of her friends was dead. Because Jessana was possibly dying, even as she sat by her bedside.

"What's wrong with her?" She asked through her fingers, tears sliding down her cheeks, "Why is she here?"

Without warning, another freezing chill swept down her spine—and it was only then that she realized that was very wrong about that, because the robot had closed the window, so the coldness had to be coming from something _else_—then, like lightning, Jessana's hand flashed out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her down toward her, a frantic, almost unintelligible whisper on her lips.

"Roetsu vo tyriren agon larukevaidu lamr eksosti," Tara held her breath in shock, her brain already frantically trying to remember what the words meant. But it'd been so long since she and Jessana had decided to teach each other their languages! _Why_ had they asked the TARDIS not to translate for each other? "Soriinwik lamr giirsu fi tiirn nezveysu roraugr." The entire room had fallen silent, and the next words, though spoken only in a whisper, seemed louder than a siren. "Lim rinnima raugr, Lim rinnima dulfaugr, Idnaaniat, boree, _dultiir lam_..."

In the silence that followed after Jessana released her death-grip on her arm, Tara's mind was only able to latch onto one word.

Idnaaniat.

Naani.

She spun around, the shout already on her lips, "_Doctor!"_

* * *

"Please explain to me again what we're trying to accomplish by being in here?"

Anya was gripping Xander's arm so tightly that he was almost starting to lose circulation in his hand. He would have been annoyed, but the fearful anxiety in her voice dispelled all feeling except those of a protective nature. Especially because he couldn't see why she was afraid.

"Ahn, honey, what's wrong?" He asked, his voice lowered to a whisper as he spun around and gripped her arms comfortingly. She looked away, biting her lip. Xander's anxiety rocketed up a few more notches.

He pulled her closer to him in a protective hug, staring over her shoulder at the room around him as she buried his face in his neck, trying to figure out what had her so freaked.

But the room looked just the same as it always had when he'd been in it. The covers lay thrown almost neatly over the bed. Not folded, but not exactly haphazard either. Neutral, lifeless. As if their owner found that it cost too much effort to go to the extremes of _any_ spectrum. Even if it were just how she got out of bed in the morning.

Mr. Gordo watched them from a shelf on the far wall, his beady little piggy eyes somehow both empty and alive. The smile that had once been stitched on below his snout had become frayed, only making it halfway before it became nothing more than a limp piece of string hanging down his chin.

Xander closed his eyes and hugged his fiance closer. "Ahn," he said again, his voice shaking only slightly, "Please, tell me, what's wrong?"

But she remained silent, small trembles wracking her frame. And somehow, her silence was worse than the fear he would have heard in her voice if she had spoken.

But he no longer needed to ask. Because now he sensed it too.

* * *

**So. What do you think?**

**Leave me a review?**


	21. Who are you?

***Realizes how long it's been since the last update***

**Err, have mercy?**

**(Apparently, when you set yourself a concrete goal that _absolutely must happen_, it takes fifty times longer to write than normal.)**

**(I regret nothing!)**

* * *

The moment he stepped down out of the gleaming white and green medic shuttle, John knew that he never wanted to leave the beautiful planet he had arrived on. Looking up, the green skies he had seen from space stretched on in all directions, interrupted only by the skyline of a nearby city and a few other small planes that had been reduced to the size of dots by distance, distinguishable as spacecraft only by the sparkling tails of blue-green fire they trailed behind them.

A warm breeze trailed past him, bringing with it the sounds of the bustling city. He lifted his head and closed his eyes, letting the indefinable yet pleasant smells the wind brought with it wash over him.

A sense of peace settled in his heart, and he wished the moment could last forever.

"John," Uliiwa called, softly.

Breathing in deeply and enjoying the coolness of the air—Uliiwa had given him a futuristic looking wrist-strap to borrow that would automatically convert the air around him to oxygen once it was in his blood so that he would be able to breathe on Adebaen—and the way it tingled slightly in his lungs, John opened his eyes and turned to look at her questioningly.

She smiled at him and gestured with both pairs of her arms to a large green and white egg-shaped pod that hovered a few inches above the gently swaying blue grass.

"Oh, right." He said, slightly embarrassed as he quickly strode over. In his awe, he'd entirely forgotten that they were supposed to be meeting someone in the city. Some agent or other who was supposedly an expert on identifying alien species.

When it became apparent that John's memories weren't going to return despite the healing room's aura, Uliiwa suggested John meet with the man who'd asked everyone to call him CJ. She didn't know what his real name was, but she trusted him. And that was good enough for John.

As he neared it, a part of the wall slid open on the pod, creating a doorway. He stepped though it at Uliiwa's nod to do so, and found himself in a spacious circular compartment that resembled slightly what he imagined the inside of a horse drawn carriage looked like.

He frowned for a second, wondering how he could possibly know what the inside of a carriage looked like, and just like that, he suddenly knew without knowing how that he had ridden in one before, when he was just a small child. Perhaps in some sort of parade or show?

He shook his head, promising himself to muse further on it later, and moved to take a seat on the purple-cushioned bench that ran around the length of the pod. Uliiwa stepped in after him, and following her came the little circular many-armed monocle-wearing cyclopean robot that Uliiwa had introduced to him earlier as Haryenian. He piloted the medical ship she'd picked him up in, and had alerted her to John's plight in the first place.

As he looked around the pod, noticing the way the ceiling stretched a few feet beyond his reach, and how there was enough room on the circular bench for he, Uliiwa, and Haryenian to be seated—or, in the robot's case, floating—comfortably, a sudden thought occurred to him.

His eyes widened slightly, and he sat in stunned silence as the shock of the idea sank in. Haryenian pressed a small button on the wall near he sat with one of his many spider-like arms, and the wall where the door had been slid shut without a seam, leaving behind a perfectly smooth round wall.

Then the little robot pressed another button, and part of the wall slid down to reveal a window about a foot wide that spanned the interior of the pod, perfectly positioned so that when John turned his head or looked across him and beyond Uliiwa, he could see the area around them.

Haryenian pressed one last button, and with a soft hum and a scarcely noticeable shift, the colors outside the window blurred into lines of green and blue as the pod began to move.

John finally found his voice. "I-Is this thing…" He paused, twirling a finger in a circle to indicate the pod, "It's smaller on the outside, isn't it?"

Uliiwa smiled and nodded just as Haryenian said, "Indeed it is! Good eye, lad!" his voice was refined, if a bit high, something John hadn't been expecting at all the first time he'd heard it. And he _definitely_ hadn't been expecting the English accent. "Not many notice it. Actually, we're lucky to have the capability in the first place. It was a gift, actually, from a man, ages and ages ago. Funny enough, but his name was John too! John Smith, he called himself."

Uliiwa chuckled, raising a hand to her mouth, "Har, you _know_ that wasn't his real name." She said, patting the top of his casing with one of her other hands, "You realize that on Earth, the name John Smith is practically synonymous with 'alias'? It's the single most common combination of names the humans use when they can't think of anything else."

Haryenian rolled his eye. "Yes, yes, my dear Uliiwa, but he _was _ a time traveler. Every trend has to start somewhere, who's to say he wasn't the _original_ John Smith?"

From the smile on Uliiwa's face, and the tone of Haryenian's voice, it was obvious that they'd had this debate many times before. Smiling to himself, John shifted sideways a bit on the bench so that he could look out the window closest to him without having to twist his neck.

The scenery flashed by, edges slightly blurred from the speed they were going, and he stared in wonder as they passed by a grove of golden-orange trees whose branches and vines swayed as if of their own will in the wind above them, while hundreds tiny, four winged birds swooped and dove around them in a wildly beautiful dance. Another of the same tree they passed had been slit open in the middle, as though from some harsh blow, and a single red glowing eye peered out from it.

The rest of the short journey passed by in a blur, enchanted as he was by the things beyond the window. A few minutes after they entered the gates of the city—huge, graceful things of shining white metal inscribed, so Uliiwa told him, with the words, _Think not of yourself, but of others_—the pod finally came to a slow half just outside a small two-story building made of white stone.

"We have arrived." Haryenian announce, reaching out with two of his arms to the control panel. The soft hum of the engines shut off, and a moment later, the door slid open just as the window retracted, transformed once more into a blank, unmarked wall.

As soon as the door had opened fully, a breeze gently wafted through the pod, carrying with it once more that indefinably pleasant smell, much stronger this time than it had been before. He would have to ask what it was later, after they had met with the man who called himself CJ.

Uliiwa stood and stepped out first, and Haryenian gestured for John to go before him, before he too floated out, closing the door behind him with a simple rap of one of his metallic pincers against the hull.

Then Uliiwa led them into a large futuristic looking building made of reflective dark blue metal. They stopped in front of what he assumed was a receptionist's desk, and the man—at least, John _thought_ it was a man, he couldn't really tell, what with the heavy dark robes that covered every inch of him but his eyes, which were deep sunken and glowing ice blue, and he didn't want to be rude and ask—behind the counter greeted Uliiwa, and they exchanged a few words in a language John couldn't understand. Then the ice-eyed man nodded, and inclined his head to a hall that stretched out at the far right of the room.

Uliiwa nodded her thanks, and they set off down the hallway.

They stopped at the third door on the left, and Uliiwa calmly knocked. After a few seconds, a voice from the other side bid them enter, and she opened the door.

John had been expecting many things when he walked into the room. A doctor's office, a scientist's gleaming white lab, a psychiatrists' cheerful lair. But, instead, they walked into…a bathroom.

At least, that's what it appeared to be at first glance. The room _was_ covered in white tiles, and there _was_ what appeared to be a large bathtub that took up most of the floor in the far corner, but there was also a large wooden bookcase that filled one of the entire walls from ceiling to floor, and an office area in front of that, complete with desk, some sort of high tech computer, and rolling—or in this case, floating—chair.

His gaze roamed around the room, trying to find the person who had spoken, only to have his attention drawn back to the pool as he suddenly noticed that it was occupied. A green, blue, and grey-ish blur underneath the water—which he now realized was quite deep, at _least_ ten feet, at a guess—was moving toward the edge closest to them.

He glanced warily at Uliiwa to check her reaction, suddenly uneasy—for some reason, he couldn't help but feel that whatever was in the pool was dangerous. The sudden image of a statue, it's pose screaming fear, wings curled about itself protectively, shielding its eyes with an arm, flashed behind his eyes and his breath caught in his throat for one bare instant as horror momentarily overtook his senses.

He took a single step backwards away from the pool—and then the fear was gone as if it had never been, leaving him slightly disoriented. Neither Uliiwa nor Haryenian seemed to have noticed his little moment, and for that he was immensely glad. He managed to quell the embarrassed heat that wanted to rise to his cheeks just as the creature that had been swimming reached the edge of the pool.

Two dark green hands—each with five fingers, he noticed with slight relief, still a bit bewildered that Uliiwa had two extra thumbs, it was just so _strange_—gripped the edge of the pool, and the creature—no, man, he corrected himself—pulled itself out of the water.

The first thing he noticed were the tentacles, dark green with bands of lighter grey-blue, and, for a moment, he thought they were snakes, the way they moved about as if by their own will about the man's head.

Any thought John had harbored about seeing a familiar faced was quickly dispelled when he realized that the man in front of him had more than five pairs of eyes. Other than that, though, and besides the fact that his skin was green, he appeared human. The tentacle-haired man wiped his hands down his arms, brushing off the droplets of water that still clung to the grey wetsuit-like clothing he wore, before offering John a smile.

"You're…from Earth, right?" He asked, his voice surprisingly youthful. At John's nod, he stuck his hand out, and John hesitantly shook it.

"I'm CJ," the man continued, then nodded over John's shoulder, "Uliiwa called ahead and told me of your situation, John. Said you woke up without any memories but for your name?" John nodded again, trying to keep his gaze from lingering too long on CJ's face. He really didn't want to be rude, but he could hardly contain his curiosity. What would it be like to see from so many eyes at once?

CJ nodded to himself and made a made a humming noise, carefully looked John up and down, and then moved around him towards the office area. After a moment John followed, and Uliiwa moved forward to stand in front of the desk. "Where is your assistant, CJ?" She asked, looking confused and slightly concerned, "I contacted him as well as you, he was aware that he would be needed. Shouldn't he be here by now?"

CJ, who had sat down in the floating chair, let his face fall into his hands as he sighed loudly, shaking his head from side to side, the snake-like tentacles bouncing in a slightly hypnotic fashion. John had to blink and look away after a moment when the sight left him slightly dizzy. The room slowly stopped its swaying.

When the tentacle-headed-man spoke, it was to Uliiwa, "I forgot that you have not yet had the… ah, _opportunity_ to meet my assistant." He said, sounding both exasperated and apologetic. "There's definitely no need to worry about him. I asked him to deliver some papers for me a few hours ago. He should be back any minute now." CJ held up a hand when it appeared that Uliiwa was going to speak, "And before you ask," He said, his eyes flickering to John for a moment, "He tends to get a little…distracted…when he's in the city. The Kevril," He said, shaking his head again, "He can't resist them. 51st century humans, you know how they are." He said.

Apparently Uliiwa _did_ know how they were, because she nodded, her mouth open in a silent, 'oh' of understanding. Haryenian chuckled, and John glanced over at him, wondering what the joke was.

He was about to ask what CJ meant by 51st century—surely it was code for something—when a sudden resounding crash that was quickly followed by a ground shaking roar sounded from beyond the door. Uliiwa froze, Haryenian jerked slightly, John almost jumped out of his skin, and CJ toppled backwards out of his chair.

A moment later, before anyone could even say anything, the shouting came again, and this time John was able to make out a voice, and realized it was the man who had been at the reception desk. He didn't know what the man was saying, but he sounded angry. _Really_ angry. The roar came again, and John somehow knew that it wasn't the cloaked man that made the sound.

He backed away from the door, adrenaline thrilling through his veins, wildly looking to the others so they could find some way to escape. Surely something was attacking the building? But instead of the fear he had been expecting, he saw only relief on CJ's face. The green-skinned picked himself up from the floor, looking slightly embarrassed. Seeing John's panicked expression, he rushed to reassure him, "Don't worry," He said, "That's just my assistant."

The sheer absurdity of the statement was only made more apparent when another heart-stopping loud roar shook the room.

CJ seemed to realize this. "This sort of thing happens to him all the time," he said, trying to explain in a way that made sense and failing horrible. John just stared at him, completely flabbergasted. Was his assistant a _werewolf_ for crying out loud?

CJ winced when another crash echoed through the building, then scowled, the tentacles on his head starting to vibrate, creating an ominous rattling sound. "I'll explain later." He said, annoyance starting to creep into his voice as another crash sounded, and the rattling noise grew in volume.

Leaving John, Uliiwa and Haryenian staring after him in confusion, CJ marched forward, forcefully swung open the door so that it slammed against the wall, stepped through it so that he was blocking John's view of the room outside, put his hands on his hips, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "CIRONE! **SIT!**" The crashing sounds from outside the room abruptly stopped, and was replaced by a dull thumping sound that made John think of a dog wagging its tail against the floor. The rattling of CJ's tentacles only lowered slightly in volume. "SO HELP ME GODS—IF YOU DON'T STOP FLIRTING WITH ZURIEL I WILL HAVE YOU OUT ON THE STREET AND BLACKLISTED FROM HERE TO ARENCOLL FASTER THAN YOU CAN SAY DON'T BLINK! _**DO. I. MAKE. MY. SELF. CLEAR!?**_" He thundered, and for a moment there was complete silence as everyone within earshot stared at him in disbelief.

John was almost afraid to breathe as the irrational fear that CJ would turn his wrath on him clawed its way into his thoughts. He was relieved beyond belief when the silence was broken by an arrogantly amused young voice saying, "Well, _someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed today." A pause, and John could also see the smirk he could hear in the young man's voice. "Probably 'cause I wasn't in it."

John's jaw dropped.

Who in their right mind responds to threats of being fired from their boss, like, like, like _that_? Was CJ's assistant _insane_? Maybe '51st century' was actually code for idiot?

John glanced over at Uliiwa, only to see that she seemed less than surprised. It was impossible to gauge Haryenian's reaction because, well, he didn't exactly have a face.

John looked back at CJ, taking a slight step backward as he did so, expecting the man to be enraged over his assistant's audacity. Instead CJ simply sighed, and spoke in the language Uliiwa had used to converse with the desk receptionist. Now that he was calmer, John dared to peek over CJ's shoulder.

And stared.

And the giant monster that almost looked like a cross between a gorilla, a dog, and a dragon stared back, its fang-filled mouth open and its forked tongue hanging out lazily as it panted, its short stubby tail wagging against the floor, creating the thumping sound he had heard earlier. Its body was covered in reddish brown fur that ended just before its paws, which resembled the hands of a primate, except that it only had three 'fingers'. It had the strangest eyes he had ever seen. What he assumed was the pupil was red, then the iris circled out around it, turning from green to blue to black in all very distinct segments. Two large horns rose up from behind its head, and a crest of dark red and orange-ish spikes ran down its back.

This was, apparently, the Cirone CJ had ordered to sit earlier. Was this was pets looked like on other planets? The thing was huge! Even sitting, it reached above John's head. It appeared friendly enough, but he hadn't forgotten the frightful roars and growls he had heard earlier.

As he watched it, a dark-blue skinned alien man wearing approached the creature, patted it on the head, and held a small hand-sized glass sphere up to its forehead. Light flickered along Cirone's fur, and then the creature turned into an orb of light, and like a bolt of lightning, zoomed into the sphere. The entire process took only a second, and when it was over, the sphere was no longer clear, but filled with a thick swirling red fog, and the creature was nowhere to be seen.

Speechless as a vague memory tugged at the back of his mind—something to do with a mouse? But the thought disappeared as quickly as it came—John realized as the blue man snatched heavy robes off the ground that it was the same man who had been behind the desk. And judging by the way he seemed both embarrassed and angry, it wasn't that hard to guess that he was Zuriel and the one CJ's assistant had been flirting with.

CJ spoke again, and Zuriel nodded, muttered something intelligible in response, and threw a sharp glare over his shoulder and stalked off out of John's line of sight.

CJ sighed wearily, then turned his head to the right. "Are you alright?" He asked, somehow managing to imbue his voice with both concern and irritation at once.

"Ha! Do you even need to ask?" Again came the arrogant voice, and John saw CJ roll his many eyes before crossing his arms over his chest, the tentacles on his head rattling slightly, before he turned to John and motioned him forward.

"I…apologize for Zuriel's behavior." He said, his words still underlined by a hissing noise, displaying his irritation, "But please, allow me to introduce you to my assistant. And please, do not allow his unprofessionalism to tarnish your thoughts of me. We are polar opposites, I assure you." CJ gestured to his right, and when John looked, he saw a young man with dark hair dusting himself off. From what John could tell, he'd been on the floor a moment ago. He'd probably been tackled by the creature they called Cirone, he realized with some concern.

Finished ridding himself of the small specks of dusk that had settled on his great coat, the young man straightened, adjusted his collar, and swaggered over. He looked John up and down in a way that was completely unlike the way CJ had done before. John fisted his hands, suddenly self conscious.

The young man raised an eyebrow, grinned as though he liked what he saw, and stuck out his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness." He said, "And _who_ are _you_?"

* * *

**Can I just say?**

**I HAVE BEEN WAITING _SO LONG_ TO SAY THAT.**

**You will finally receive some answers from the Doctor in the next chapter :)**

**Hope you enjoyed this one, and if you'd like to see the cartoon I made of Zuriel siccing Cirone on Jack, feel free to visit my Deviantart page. The cartoon is called "Sic 'em, boy!"**

**Thanks for reading this far :D**


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